


Across The Waves

by oscarlovesthesea



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: (all the cws that go with these characters being traumatised, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Getting Together, M/M, References to Depression, Road Trips, Slow Burn, but nothing too heavy), extremely wacky pathfinder mechanics, i tried to say hot zolf rights but i'm a lesbian so i'm not sure how that went, in the best possible version of events where everyone survives, like everything is unrealistically fine, lots of softness, or well the dungeonpunk version of that, set post campaign, super mild blood and violence, took a lot of wild liberties with canon here folks, wilde is cool and powerful you can't change my mind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:54:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 26,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24917191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oscarlovesthesea/pseuds/oscarlovesthesea
Summary: “I don’t know who I am without my work, anymore," Wilde exhales,  "and I don’t – I don’t know how to find out. We saved the world, and so much of it I’ve never seen as myself, just as whatever purpose I was fulfilling there.” Zolf can feel him breathe deeply next to him. He’s staring into the distance, brow furrowed.“You could do that now,” he suggests, and he isn’t sure why he says it, or what he’s trying to achieve by it. “Travel, I mean. See the world, or whatever.”“Yes, I could,” Wilde says slowly. Then he adds, like the words are spilling out of him, “You could come with me, if you wanted.”Zolf breathes in, as slow as he can. He’d known, from the moment they’d started talking, that this is where they might end up, and still the proposal takes him by surprise.“You don’t have to,” Wilde is saying over the drumming in Zolf’s chest, “but you said you didn’t know what to do, so…”“I’d like that,” he blurts out, taking himself by surprise with the certainty of it. “I think I’d like that.”*A story about traveling, and healing, and finding a home.
Relationships: Azu & Zolf Smith, Celiquillithon "Cel" Sidebottom & Zolf Smith, Hamid Saleh Haroun al-Tahan & Zolf Smith, Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde, also whatever it is with Azu and Hamid is there, implied/referenced Carter/Barnes, implied/referenced Cel/Earhart
Comments: 118
Kudos: 173





	1. i. London

**Author's Note:**

> Hello folks! This fic started as a joke I made on the discord about "the slow burn post campaign Zolf/Wilde romance fic that I'll never write". Anyway, I joked about it so much that I wrote it. I've gotten most of it written already, so I'm hoping for weekly updates until it's all finished up. I did not mean for this to turn into a 20k+ words monster but Alexander J Newall has given me brainrot, so thanks for that I guess.
> 
> Just an early disclaimer: this is set post campaign, but I started writing around episode 153, and as I am posting it we are only as far as 158. You can expect a lot of canon divergence from about episode 153 onwards, since for the sake of my sanity I decided not to adapt the plot to reflect canon. I'm also very vague with how the campaign actually ends because honestly I have no idea what's going to happen in canon, so I just decided to portray the best possible version of events where everyone survives and most things are fine actually.
> 
> Giant shoutout to Enea, my wonderful beta, who listened to me have all the possible breakdowns about this fic. Thank you, I love you. You can find him as [grassboy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grassboy/pseuds/grassboy) or @jimmymagma on twitter.
> 
> This fic has been my actual literal baby for a while and I'm both excited and terrified of finally showing it to the world. Hope you all enjoy!

The meet-up point is an abandoned theatre. They make their way there trudging through a torn down London, the streets filled with people who are just starting to regain awareness of who they are – Zolf watches as the blue veins slowly fade from their skin and their eyes clear, looking for familiar signs in a world that they haven’t been able to understand for months. There will be time to stop and help them, to explain what has happened to them and why they are free, but Zolf knows that his party can’t do that until they’ve had healing and rest. More than anything, they need to find out if the rest of their team has survived their respective missions, so they quietly head to the theatre. Cel is walking silently, but their gaze is attentive as they observe the people who are slowly regaining consciousness, their brain undoubtedly going faster than should be allowed considering how tired they all are. Hamid is also quiet, almost asleep in Azu’s arms, completely drained by the amount of magic he’d had to use during the final fight. She’s carrying him protectively, her gaze dark with concern. Zolf understands her worry, because while they may have saved the world they can’t celebrate yet. Not until they know that the rest of their friends are safe, which Zolf – Zolf is not thinking about any other possibility. He has some healing left in him, and they are going to go to the theatre, and find the others, and heal up and rest before facing how the world has changed. Any other outcome, right now, is too much to think about.

They eventually reach the theatre and wait for the others in silence, contemplating the faded remains of some old scenography, the torn cardboard looking like it might have mimicked some overly expensive wallpaper. They don’t have to wait too long before there are some shuffling noises from backstage, and Carter and Barnes emerge from the wings, leaning against each other. They look dirty and dishevelled, but mostly unharmed, and Zolf would think that their part of the mission went fine, if it wasn’t for – well. If it wasn’t for the noticeable absence of Wilde.

“You made it.” Barnes says, and it’s not a question. He seems tired, but the corners of his mouth are lifting. “People in the streets are turning back.”

“We saw,” Zolf doesn’t point out the obvious, because he’s not sure he’s ready for the answer to the question that’s burning in his throat.

Barnes looks down at him, brow furrowed. It’s Hamid who breaks the silence.

“Where is Oscar?” 

“We lost him,” Carter says, his voice creaky. “They were coming to us from all sides, and we had to make it to the place, and he said that we had the better chance of making it there if he could keep them busy, and he just…” 

“-he stayed behind,” Barnes continues for him, interrupting Carter’s frantic monologue. “We couldn’t find him on the way back here.” He’s looking at somewhere in the middle distance, but his gaze falls on Zolf for a second when he adds, “I’m sorry.”

“We need to go look for him,” Hamid says as he stands up. His face is dark. 

“We tried, Hamid, he’s-”

“So what, you just  _ left him _ ?”

“What else did you want us to do, Hamid?” Barnes’s voice is uncertain, sounding more like he’s trying to convince himself than anything else. “We wouldn’t have made it otherwise, and he’s the one who always said that the mission comes first-”

“-He’s a  _ bard,  _ for gods’s sakes, it’s not like he’s big on fighting-” It’s not the first time that Zolf has seen Hamid on the verge of tears, but he thinks it might be the first time he is seeing him enraged as well. 

“Both of you, shut up!” Zolf shouts, almost loud enough to silence the buzzing of his own thoughts. The others quiet, turning their gaze to him, and he also feels himself become angry at the way they are looking at him, full of remorse and concern. “Wilde is not some… damsel in distress, he’s one of the most powerful bards in the world,” he exhales. He knows this is true, and he also knows that against the hordes of infected who’d been swarming London, that might not have been enough. “This was the meet-up point, so if we wait, he will come here.” He doesn’t say  _ if he’s still alive,  _ because he’s spent too long believing in hope to let go now that they’ve almost made it. And it’s not like he hasn’t always known that not all of them might make it out of this alive, but he can’t – he can’t lose Wilde. Not now that they are so close to the light. 

So they sit back down, and they wait. Azu offers to heal Barnes and Carter when Zolf forgets to, but they shrug her off to down a couple of potions. They are sitting next to each other, Carter resting his head against Barnes’s shoulder. When Barnes meets his gaze, there’s a silent apology in his eyes, which is more than Zolf can take. He gets back up and starts pacing around the abandoned stage, disappearing in the wings, away from where the others can see him. And then he just waits in silence, the darkness backstage swallowing him as he tries, hard as he can, to cling onto the glimmer of hope that’s sustained him all this time. 

*

“I hope I’m not interrupting your brooding,” Wilde’s voice says, cutting through the silence. 

Zolf heard the shuffling noises and the heavy steps approaching, but that tiny spark of hope doesn’t even come close to the immense wave of relief that overcomes him when he turns and Wilde is there, a wonky but genuine smile on his face. He’s holding himself awkwardly, and he’s got his right hand pressed to his side.

“I might be in need of some assistance,” Wilde adds, before immediately dropping to the floor dramatically. Zolf rushes over to him to find him unconscious and covered in blood, an open wound on his side still bleeding copiously. But it’s alright, Zolf thinks, he’s a healer. This is what he’s here for.

He lays his hands on Wilde’s wound and pours everything he can into the spell, feeling the wound slowly stitch itself back together, a hint of colour starting to appear back on Wilde’s cheeks. When he comes to and opens his eyes again, they’re attentive as always.

“We made it,” he says, a smile brightening his face.

“Well, you almost didn’t,” Zolf says. He’s still holding Wilde, but he doesn’t want to let go. “Bloody idiot, playing the hero and staying behind, what were you thinking?”

Wilde huffs out a laugh. “Hey, it worked. We did it.”

Zolf almost considers scolding him again, but suddenly all the joy that he’d been too scared to feel spills out, and he finds himself joining him in the laughter. 

They’re still giggling when the others find them, still holding each other on the floor. 

“We heard you,” Hamid says. “You couldn’t call or anything, could you?” The irritation in his voice is made entirely unconvincing by the grin on his face as he also drops to his knees and joins them in a tangled hug. 

“Really?” Zolf asks, not even bothering with actually trying to sound annoyed.

“Yes, this is happening,” Azu says as she also drops to the floor and envelops them. “Don’t you even try to stop it”. 

The others join them and soon they are all a giggling mess of limbs. Zolf feels Wilde laugh against his chest, and his friends’ arms around him, and starts thinking about what comes next.

*

“Next, we go back to Cairo, I imagine,” Wilde tells him a couple of hours later, when the others have fallen asleep. Wilde’s been sitting on the stage with his back against one of the cardboard walls for a while now, to the point that if he didn’t know any better, Zolf would have thought he was meditating. 

“Technically didn’t ask.”

“I know,” Wilde shrugs, “but I assume you were wondering.” He looks down at Zolf, who’s only woken up in the last few minutes, and adds, softer, “You should get some more sleep.”

“Pot, kettle,” Zolf says, pulling himself up. As quietly as he can, he makes his way to Wilde so that he can sit next to him, and then lets the silence wash over them. For the first time in months, there is no rush.

“I did try,” Wilde exhales, eventually. “To sleep. But here…” he gestures vaguely. “Too many memories.”

“London?” 

“You could say that, but I meant here,” he pats the floor next to him, “this theatre.”

“You didn’t mention having been here before,” Zolf says, slowly. 

Wilde sighs. “They put on my plays here,” He is staring into the middle distance, looking at a time that Zolf cannot see. “I would sit in the front row and stand up as London applauded the genius of Oscar Wilde.” He purses his lips. “Seems like a lifetime ago, now.”

One thing that Zolf has never really discussed with Wilde, since they started working together again, has been the past. They’d both changed so much, and there had been so much to do, that it didn’t seem to matter. But now, in a moment of quiet surrounded by ghosts of the past, Zolf suddenly wonders about all the things he doesn’t know. 

“Was this before or after you worked for the Meritocrats?” He asks, because it’s the easiest question he can think of.

“Both. They found me after  _ Lady Windermere  _ was all the rage in London, but I continued writing after that,” his brow is furrowed, as if he’s lost in thought. “I think  _ Earnest  _ had just come out when I first met you and the others.”

“Do you ever miss it?” Zolf asks. “High society and-” he gestures vaguely, “- all of that?” 

“Well, it was all smoke and mirrors, even then. And no,” He turns to look at Zolf, grey eyes dark and focused. “What we did here, I wouldn’t change it for anything.”

His gaze doesn’t let go of Zolf’s as he speaks, hot and intense, and there are so many things that Zolf has wanted to say for a while that rise to the edge of his lips, with a bubbling sensation of excitement and expectation that he hasn’t felt in so long. And then, Carter mumbles something in his sleep as he flops to his side, and Zolf looks away, the words left unsaid burning his throat and his cheeks. 

“What about you?” Wilde says, after a moment. He sounds slightly breathless. “You never told me why you joined the navy.” 

That’s true, he hasn’t, but to be fair, he has told very few, and it’s with a hint of annoyance that he realises that he’s told  _ Carter,  _ of all people, and not Wilde. He  _ could _ tell him, he thinks. But he could also tell him everything that he’s wanted to tell him for a while, and all of it feels rushed, too sudden after such a drawn-out wait. 

So instead he mutters, “I just really hated mining.”

He knows he’s never been a very good liar, and it only takes one look to know that Wilde is not buying it for a second, but he doesn’t press on. He looks away, pursing his lips, and for a moment it looks like he might say something before he closes his mouth, then opens it again.

“Get some sleep, Zolf.” 

“You too,” Zolf rebuts, as he shuffles back into his bedroll. 

Wilde rolls his eyes, but he exhales an “Alright.” A hint of a smile is playing on his face, and Zolf knows that he is mirroring it. They have time. 


	2. ii. Cairo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very tired so I'm impulsively posting this chapter one day early because I'm pretty proud of it and why not I guess
> 
> Again huge shoutout to Enea (@ [grassboy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grassboy/pseuds/grassboy)) for betaing and generally supporting me and being an overall wonderful friend.

Zolf has only been to Cairo once before, when his collaboration with Wilde was just starting. It’s where Curie put them into contact, before they headed to Japan together to try and start saving the world, and it’s odd being back now with the rest of his family, no apocalypse to worry about. He can tell that Hamid is nervous, his hand squeezing Zolf’s a bit too hard as Einstein teleports them away from London. Zolf squeezes his hand back one last time before letting go, but he’s come a long way from the Hamid who would throw up every time he was nervous, so he figures he will be fine.

They stand in Curie’s office as she explains that it looks like their action in London has done what it was supposed to, and the world is seemingly recovering and slowly coming back to normal. For what Zolf thinks might be the first time since he met her, she smiles openly as she congratulates them before dismissing them.

“Before you go,” she cuts in as they all start turning towards the door, “Mister Wilde, could I talk to you for a second?”

“Certainly.” Wilde says calmly, but Zolf can detect an edge of tension in his voice. Nevertheless, he leaves the study with the others.

“You go ahead,” Zolf tells them once they’re out. “I’ll wait for Wilde.”

Hamid gives him an inquisitive look. “Are you sure?”

“Sure,” Zolf mutters. “Go see your family.”

Hamid visibly deflates and gives him a last nod before heading down the corridor with the others, Cel raising their eyebrows at him before they leave. Zolf sighs.

It’s a good ten minutes before Wilde eventually comes out of the study. He stops in his tracks when he sees Zolf.

“Alright?” Zolf asks.

“Yes,” Wilde closes the door behind him. “She just wanted to go over… stuff.”

Zolf raises his eyebrows. “Stuff?” He asks, because it’s not really like Wilde to lose his ability to speak. That’s kind of his whole thing.

“Yes,” Wilde nods. He looks at Zolf, and opens his mouth for a moment, then closes it again quickly. After a second, he adds, “If you’ll excuse me, I have some people I need to speak to.”

He turns on his heels and leaves, faster than would be justified, and Zolf is left standing in the corridor alone.

“What was  _ that _ ?” He mutters, before starting to follow.

*

There’s a party, because of course there is. Because the world is coming back to itself, and as much as Zolf might be struggling to breathe in the hall filled with people he barely knows, he knows that this is cause for celebration. He’s on his third glass of wine, and he’s planning on drinking out this entire thing until he and the rest of his party have an excuse to hide away together. It’s not that he doesn’t like a celebration, but this is different than what he’s used to – in the past, with his crew, a good party consisted in getting drunk on rum and shouting and dancing badly, while here the tone is quiet, the music is contained, and everyone away from the dance floor is expected to be doing polite conversation. Zolf’s never been much good at that, so he hides with Carter and Barnes, who are also more than tipsy, and don’t care that much about his lacking speaking skills.

“We’re going to have to find a place,” Barnes is saying, his speech not quite slurred but definitely not as clear as it could be. “Because I don’t think I can live here, it smells like rich people. But don’t- don’t tell Hamid I said that, I like him.”

“You’re staying in Cairo?” Zolf asks, the surprise almost causing him to spill his wine.

Carter grins. “We are robbing a pyramid!”

“We are not,” Barnes hides his face in his hands. “We’re not robbing it. Saira asked us to explore it for her.”

“…And taking souvenirs!”

“…only with her permission.” Barnes’s attempt at sounding stern is sort of defeated by the fact that he’s basically laying his head on Carter’s shoulder, which also looks insanely awkward, considering Carter’s almost a whole head shorter than him. “What are  _ you _ gonna do?”

“Gods, I don’t know,” he mumbles, taking a swig of his drink. He knows that Hamid is going to stay in Cairo with his family for a while, and then he’s going to head to Kenya with Azu to go see hers. They’ve asked if he wanted to come with, and while he hasn’t quite said no, he hasn’t said yes either, because he’s unsure he can take so many family reunions when  _ he _ doesn’t have one to go back to.

“What’s Wilde doing?” Carter asks. He’s officially reached the point of drunkenness where he’s swaying on his feet.

“I don’t know,” Zolf says again, a pang of irritation piercing his chest. He meant to ask, after his meeting with Curie, but he’s fairly sure that Wilde’s been actively avoiding him tonight, which is something that he isn’t sure how to unpack.

“Actually, do you know where he is?” Barnes asks, his tone too casual to be believable.

Zolf sighs. “No,” he takes another swig from his wine, wishing it was something stronger. “I think he left, I just-”  _ he’s been trying to hide away from me all night, it feels too awkward to go look for him. _

“Trouble in paradise?” Carter says, wiggling his eyebrows, and Barnes smacks him on the neck.

Zolf short-circuits. “What? No,” he says over Carter’s protests. He knows his face is probably turning red, but hopefully everyone can blame it on the alcohol.

“Hey, guys!” Hamid shouts, rocking up to them. Zolf doesn’t even think he’s drunk, Hamid doesn’t do that, but he looks – well, he looks a mess, his face red and his shirt open and his hair slick with sweat. He looks like he’s been dancing non-stop for hours, which is probably exactly what he’s been doing. “Why aren’t you dancing?”

“I have mechanical legs, Hamid.”

“Oh,  _ excuses,  _ you can fight in them just fine!”

It  _ is  _ an excuse, but he doesn’t appreciate getting called out on it.

“We were telling him that we’re going to rob a pyramid!” Carter butts in, and Barnes smacks him again.

Hamid stares at him, eyes narrowed. “Please don’t do that.”

“You need to stop telling people that,” Barnes sighs, before turning to Hamid. “We are not robbing anything, Saira asked us to investigate it.”

“Same thing.” Carter pipes in.

Barnes closes his eyes for a second, taking a deep breath, before grabbing Carter’s hand. “Sweetheart, come dance with me, will you?” He says, and any other condemning thing Carter might have said gets lost in his grin as he lets himself be dragged to the dance floor.

Hamid watches them as they walk to the dance floor, his mouth forming an almost perfect  _ O.  _ “Wait,” he says, high-pitched. “Are they….?”

“I don’t know,” Zolf sighs. “And I don’t think I want to.”

Hamid chuckles. “By the way, have you seen Oscar?”

“No, I haven’t-” he splutters, “Why does everyone think I know where he is?”

Hamid raises his eyebrows at him. “Are you alright?” He asks after a moment.

“Yes, fine,” Zolf waves him away, but Hamid’s gaze doesn’t let go of his.

“Zolf-” He says, carefully.

“Wilde’s avoiding me,” Zolf blurts out. “At least I think he is, I dunno.”

“What, really?”

Zolf nods, hiding his face in his wine, and Hamid clicks his tongue, in contemplation. “I don’t think it’s you he’s avoiding,” he says slowly. “It’s probably just the party.”

“No, he-” Zolf can feel his face flushing red, again. He’d considered all of this, but admitting it out loud is excruciating. “Earlier I tried to ask what Curie wanted to talk to him about? And he just kind of ignored me? So, yeah.”

Hamid’s staring at him, eyes narrowed. Zolf wishes he could just disappear into the floor.

“You should go look for him,” Hamid says eventually. “I want to challenge him to a dance-off and he’s more likely to say yes if you ask.”

“Dunno about that.”

Hamid rolls his eyes. “Fine, enjoy your moping, then. I’m heading back to the tragically Oscar-lacking dance-floor.”

Zolf laughs as he watches him go, then downs the rest of his wine. It’s fine, he can go find Wilde for Hamid. It’s not like he’s been working himself up to it for the last few hours, he can do this. It’s not a big deal.

He dodges the crowds of people on the dance floor, quickly passing Cel who seems to be deep in conversation with Amelia Earhart, which is honestly a combination that Zolf hadn’t thought of and isn’t prepared for. He heads where he himself would have gone, away from people and out towards the back, where the gardens are. Eventually, he finds Wilde sitting on the steps of a patio, looking out onto a pool surrounded by trees. His hair is blowing gently in the warm night breeze.

“Thought I was the moper here.” Zolf says, breaking the silence.

Wilde huffs. “I’m not moping,” he says, as Zolf sits down next to him. “Just contemplating.”

“Whatever,” Zolf snorts, nudging him with his elbow. Wilde smiles, which he guesses is a good sign. “The others are wondering where you are.”

“I was just taking a break,” Wilde says slowly. “I think… I think I don’t like parties very much?”

“Really?” Zolf asks. “I would have thought-”

“I know,” Wilde cuts him off. “It’s just… I’ve changed a lot. And I don’t know how to… do all the things I used to do, now that I’m not…” he purses his lips, “I’m not the same person anymore.” He’s stroking his scar, absent-mindedly. Zolf forces down the urge to lean over and take his hand.

“Wilde…” he says instead. “If  _ I  _ am making an effort, so can you.”

Wilde laughs, soft and breathless. “I’ll come through in a moment.”

“Cool,” Zolf says, making no move to leave. “I’ll wait.”

From the corner of his eye, he can see Wilde smirk, biting the edge of his lip. He looks ethereal, his skin almost glimmering in the moonlight, and Zolf’s heart twists gently in his chest.

“What are you going to do?” Wilde asks after a long silence, his voice softer than usual. “Now that it’s over?”

“I’m not sure,” Zolf sighs, because he still has no idea. He doesn’t really have a home to go back to, and his party are the closest thing to a family he has, but he’s not sure he can stand to be there and watch while they’re all reunited with their _actual_ families. And of course, there’s the other question that’s been bugging him he’s been so careful not to ask. Until now. He swallows. “What about you?”

Wilde lets out a mirthless laugh, his entire body shaking with it. “I don’t know,” he says. And then, after a moment, “Curie’s asked me to help build the new… republic, or whatever it will be.”

“That’s what she wanted?”

“Mmh-mh.”

“What are you going to say?”

“I don’t know,” Wilde shakes his head, frustration seeping through his voice. “What else am I going to do? For years, my work has been the only thing I let myself give importance to.” He trails off, but Zolf has known him long enough to know that he isn’t finished yet, so he waits. After a few moments, he adds, “I don’t know who I  _ am  _ without it, anymore, and I don’t – I don’t know how to find out. We saved the world, and so much of it I’ve never seen as myself, just as whatever purpose I was fulfilling there.” Zolf can feel him breathe deeply next to him. He’s staring into the distance, brow furrowed.

“You could do that now,” he suggests, and he isn’t sure why he says it, or what he’s trying to achieve by it. “Travel, I mean. See the world, or whatever.”

“Yes, I could,” Wilde says slowly. Then he adds, like the words are spilling out of him, “You could come with me, if you wanted.”

Zolf breathes in, as slow as he can. He’d known, from the moment they’d started talking, that this is where they might end up, and still the proposal takes him by surprise.

“You don’t have to,” Wilde is saying over the drumming in Zolf’s chest, “but you said you didn’t know what to do, so…”

“I’d like that,” he blurts out, taking himself by surprise with the certainty of it. “I think I’d like that.”

“Good.” When Wilde finally turns to look at Zolf, he’s smiling his lopsided, sincere smile, and Zolf’s breath catches in his throat. There are so many things he could say now, warm things curling up in his chest that he’s left unspoken for too long. Or, he’s never been a man of words, but he could just lean over and close the distance between them.

He doesn’t do either of those things.

Instead he blurts out, “We should probably get back to the others,” trying and failing at sounding casual.

“Yes,” Wilde says, and he sounds hoarser than normal, which is something that Zolf can definitely take some time to unpack after some more glasses of wine.

“Fair warning, Hamid wants to challenge you to a dance-off.”

Wilde laughs, the sound crystal clear in the quiet of the gardens. “Well, we can’t let him wait too long.”

*

In the end, the party is not the worst, as everyone seems to get more lax as the evening goes on, and the dance floor gets more cheerful and chaotic, reminding Zolf of long nights at sea. Hamid, now together with Azu and Cel, is leading the crowd, and Carter and Barnes are pressed together in a way that dissolves any lingering doubts about their relationship.

Zolf stands awkwardly with Wilde for a bit, staring at the mass of people on the dance floor, but eventually Azu makes her way over to them, the big smile on their face eventually winning them over to the dance floor. It’s loud, and chaotic, and Zolf finds that, surrounded by his friends, he’s having a good time.

“You’re in a better mood!” Hamid tells him, grabbing his hand and spinning him around. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but Zolf finds himself laughing helplessly.

“Yeah!” He shouts back, and there’s something mischievous about Hamid’s smile, that Zolf doesn’t investigate.

The music changes to a slower, gentler tune, and Hamid spins him around again, this time letting go of his hand. When Zolf pieces himself together enough, he realises that Wilde is front of him, a confused expression painted on his face, and from the way Azu is hovering behind him he has a feeling that maybe Wilde was subjected to the same treatment that he was, just so that he would end up standing in front of Zolf. Any other time, he would be annoyed, but tonight the music is kind, and Wilde’s hair is dishevelled and his cheeks are tinged pink, smiling in a way that Zolf has only seen in quiet moments when hiding away from the world. Wilde considers him for a moment, his head cocked, and then extends a hand.

“Do you want to dance?” He asks.

Zolf’s stomach twists uncontrollably. “What?” He manages to exhale, as nonchalantly as he can.

“Why not?”

Zolf looks around. Cel has Hamid on their shoulder, so that together they can dance with Azu at what is a less uncomfortable angle, and Barnes and Carter have shifted into a proper slow-dance, foreheads pressed against each other’s in a picture so intimate that Zolf needs to look away.

He swallows and takes Wilde’s hand.

It's awkward, at first – Wilde is considerably taller than him and Zolf’s legs are not as nimble as he’d like them to be for this. They repeatedly step on each other’s toes, but every time they do they laugh like it’s a shared secret, and slowly they find their pace. He rests his cheek against Wilde’s chest and breathes in the peace as the music gently lulls them, and for once, neither of them need to say anything. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The amazing art in this is also by Enea! Check him out on twitter at @jimmymagma
> 
> As usual, if you wanna come chat, you can find me at @oscarlovesthsea on twitter or @jonathanjarchivistsims on tumblr, or lurking on the RQ official server. come shout at me!
> 
> Next chapters features some preparations.


	3. iii. In the air

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a week later, but chapter notes!  
> as usual, this chapter was betaed by my wonderful friend Enea. Thank you so much, I love you. you can find xem as @grassboy here on ao3 or @jimmymagma on twitter, go check him out!

“Absolutely not.”

“Come on,” Wilde pleads, opening his hands. “I don’t understand why  _ you  _ are being so hard to convince. I’m the one she threatened to shoot, not you.”

“Can’t we just take the train?” Zolf asks, frustrated.

“The trains are barely running, Zolf.” Wilde’s tone is so calm that Zolf almost thinks he might just go back to his original plans and drown him in a bucket. Almost. “Really, I don’t understand why you are so opposed to traveling with Miss Earhart.”

Zolf groans, Wilde fixing him with a pointed look. Oh, screw this. “I get air-sick.” He mutters eventually.

Wilde raises an amused eyebrow at him. “Really?”

“Don’t give me that face.”

“I would have thought, with the whole sailor thing, you know…” Wilde gestures vaguely, an aggravating smirk colouring his face.

“Alright, sailing and flying? Entirely different things,” Zolf snaps, “so, you know, shut up.”

Wilde doesn’t reply, but rests his gaze on him, laying his chin on his hand. He’s clearly trying to contain a laugh.

“You know, I don’t need Poseidon to drown you in a bucket.”

This time Wilde does laugh, but it’s not mocking, it’s pure and unbridled. Zolf can almost feel the air sizzle with the magic of it, it’s exhilarating.

“Mister Smith, you never cease to surprise me.”

“Oh, shut up,” Zolf says. “And don’t call me that.”

“Why not? You call me Wilde.”

Zolf does. He’s been making a point of calling him that and nothing but that for almost as long as he’s known him, the remnants of a fight abandoned long ago. He worries, sometimes, about what would happen if he stopped. He doesn’t have to rise up to this challenge, and yet…

“Alright, Oscar,” he says. The name feels warm and gentle on his tongue. “Don’t call me Mister Smith.”

“If you insist.” Oscar shrugs, but Zolf doesn’t miss the way his face flushes lightly. They hold each other’s gaze for just a moment too long. “Anyway,” Oscar says, clearing his throat, “Amelia Earhart-”

“Why is she even going to Prague anyway? I thought she was traveling with Cel.”

That one’s a recent development, but Zolf can’t say he’s too surprised. Earhart seems to complement their energy in a way that he doesn’t think Cel had found in the party.

“She is,” Oscar nods, “but first she’s dropping Curie off in Prague.” He pauses, his eyes narrowing slightly as he considers his words. “There was someone Curie was looking for, and apparently she’s turned up in Prague, so…”

There is something in his tone that Zolf can’t quite pin down, a longing in his voice he’s not used to. Oscar is looking down at his hands, long fingers tapping against the desk in his makeshift study in Cairo. (By the way, Zolf is fairly sure that he doesn’t even  _ need  _ a study anymore. He has a feeling he’s gotten too used to talking to people from behind a desk.)

“So who is this?” Zolf asks carefully.

“I must have mentioned Eldarion,” Oscar says, his tone nonchalant but his eyes cold. “She… went to Rome with the others, I believe, and… also got stuck. Presumably died.” He takes another pause, lips pursed. “I think her and Curie were… close.”

Zolf doesn’t like being reminded of Rome, shame burning through his chest when he thinks about Sasha, and about the one who protected her when Zolf couldn’t. He swallows, and when he realises that Zolf isn’t going to say anything, Oscar continues.

“Apparently, she’d actually managed to make her way back to Prague, but got swept up in the infection. But now that people are healing…” he makes a generic motion with his hand, letting the words hang there. “I thought it might be as good of a place to start as any.” He looks at Zolf carefully. “That said, if you’d rather avoid Prague altogether…”

“What?” Zolf splutters, “no, Prague is fine. I don’t care.” That’s not entirely true, and from the way Oscar’s eyes narrow, he knows that.

“Zolf-”

“No, let me-” he says, desperately struggling for words. “I want to go. I think. I just – yeah. It will be okay.”

“Alright.” Oscar says slowly. He’s always been good at not making a  _ thing  _ out of Zolf’s bad days, maybe because Zolf does the same in return. Strangely enough, he thinks that if he’s going to go back to Prague with anyone, Oscar might be the right person for it. And if this goes well, maybe one day he will be able to return with the rest of his family.

“But, for the record, you’re not allowed to make fun of me if I get air-sick.”

Oscar actually  _ smirks,  _ the bloody bastard.

“Now, for that I can’t make any promises.”

*

It turns out that Cel is leaving with them, so when Azu and Hamid come to see them off, it really feels like the end of something. More hugs are exchanged than Zolf would have thought physically possible, not that he’s complaining. Before they embark, Azu and Hamid take Zolf aside, dragging him away from the others so that they can have a talk in private.

“So you are sure about this?” Hamid asks once they’re out of earshot. “Because if not, you can still come with us.”

“I think what Hamid’s trying to say,” Azu sighs, “is that he’s going to miss you.”

“Of course I am!” Hamid shouts. “I thought that was obvious!”

Azu smiles at him, and Zolf feels the blood rushing to his ears. He will also genuinely miss them, but for now, this is for the best.

“I will miss you too,” he says, “but I need to figure out some stuff on my own first.” He doesn’t miss the way Hamid’s shoulders sag at that, so he adds quickly, “Hey, this is not like the last time, okay? I’m not leaving because I’m… too hurt to do anything, or something. I’ve just got…” he looks over at Oscar, who seems to be having a heated conversation with Earhart. His posture is relaxed, though, so it’s probably fine. “-things I need to figure out, now.”

“And you’ll stay in touch.” Azu says. It’s phrased like a suggestion, but it’s very clearly meant to be interpreted as a statement.

“Yeah, that,” Zolf agrees, “and I’ll see you soon.”

“Okay.” Hamid says, his voice just slightly higher pitched than usual. He blinks a few times, a little too quickly. “By the way,” he adds after clearing his throat, “if you need me to give Oscar the talk, just let me know.”

“The -what?” Zolf asks, because he has no idea what he is talking about.

“Hamid…” Azu sighs.

Hamid cuts her off. “You know…” he says, an eyebrow raised.

Zolf’s ears go red once again. “Hamid,” he says slowly, “I really don’t think Wilde needs sex tips from you…?”

“What?” Hamid asks, almost shouting. “No, that’s not what I meant! What?”

“I thought you meant…”

“Gods,  _ no _ , why would I…”

“Both of you, just stop-” Azu says, wheezing. “-just… you two, I swear…” she hides her face in her hands, her entire body shaking with laughter.

“No, I meant, if he was being an ass and you needed someone to like, give him a stern talking to, or something!” Hamid says, so quickly that Zolf can barely catch the words.

“Oh, that’s what you…”

“Yeah, that’s what I meant!”

Azu bursts out laughing again. “Hamid,” she says eventually, wiping actual tears from her eyes, “I think they’ll be okay.”

*

“Okay” is an overstatement, because from the moment the airship takes flight, Zolf’s stomach tries to lurch through his throat and onto the deck. Zolf stubbornly tries to keep his composure for approximately ten minutes before giving up and going to lie down in his assigned cabin with a bucket next to him. Typical. He’s survived a literal apocalypse, but of course an air-ship is the thing that gets him. He spends the first day of flight in his cabin, barely sleeping through his nausea, and trying to keep himself together. The second day is actual agony. He all but snaps at Oscar when he comes to check on him, and Oscar purses his lips and leaves the cabin quietly, which, fair enough, Zolf probably deserves it. Looking up at the ceiling, he groans, because they are one day into their trip and he’s already screwing things up. He’s still wallowing over everything that he’s ever done wrong in his life when Oscar comes back in a few minutes later, pausing on the door for his reaction.

“Really can’t take any snark right now, Oscar,” Zolf mutters.

“I’m not here to…” Oscar takes a tentative step towards his bed, “I’m here to help.” He says it almost sheepishly, looking smaller than usual in the cabin door. He holds his hands up, to show that he’s carrying a cup and what looks like a piece of cloth. “Can you sit up?”

Zolf groans, but does as he’s told, letting his legs hang down the side of the bed. Carefully, Oscar sits next to him.

“I’ve brought you tea,” he says, handing the cup over to Zolf. “It’s peppermint, it’s good for nausea. And so is – do you mind?” He asks, holding up the cloth. At Zolf’s nod, he reaches out, and gently holds it to the back of Zolf’s neck.

It’s warm against his skin and Zolf exhales, immediately going limp with relief. “What…” he starts, and then lets the sentence hang there, because he doesn’t know how to continue.

“Something hot against the back of your neck is also good for nausea,” Oscar says softly. “I enchanted this, so it’s going to remain warm for an hour. I can do it again later, if you think it might help.”

“Thanks,” Zolf sighs, breathing heavily. He takes a sip of his tea.

“How do you know this stuff anyway?”

Oscar sighs. “I couldn’t use magic when I was cursed, so I had to learn to do things the old-fashioned way for a while.” He’s still holding the cloth, and Zolf can feel his breath against the back of his head. “Sometimes I think we have gotten too used to doing everything with magic.”

“Ah, so you didn’t actually need a cleric for your team, got you.”

“Don’t get dramatic,” Oscar huffs, “I wouldn’t have done any of this without you.” Zolf makes a non-committal sound, and Oscar sighs in return. “Is it helping?”

It takes a moment for Zolf to realise that he’s talking about the cloth and the tea, and it’s almost with shock that he realises that they are.

“Yeah,” he says, taking another sip of his tea. “Thank you.”

There is no reason for Oscar to stay, but they sit together quietly until the cloth against Zolf’s skin grows cold. Oscar tuts and enchants it again as Zolf surprises himself with a yawn.

“Are you alright?” Oscar asks.

“Mmh,” Zolf mumbles. “Warmth. It’s making me sleepy.”

“Did you get any sleep last night?”

“Not much.”

“You should rest.”

Zolf groans, but lays back down, taking the cloth from Oscar so that he can hold it himself. He feels a lot better than he did, but with that, his exhaustion is starting to catch up to him.

“It’s alright,” Oscar says softly. “I’ll wait.”

It’s the last thing Zolf hears before he dozes off, enveloped by warmth.

*

When he wakes a few hours later Oscar is gone, which he doesn’t feel bitter about at all. His nausea is a lot better, though, so he heads out of his cabin for the first time since he boarded the ship, looking for the others. He eventually opens the door to the ship’s common room to find everyone sat around the table, Oscar gesturing wildly.

“And then-” he’s saying when Zolf opens the door, “-I had to sing the guard to sleep in order to break out. Really  _ abysmal  _ security.”

“What’s this about?” Zolf asks from the doorway. Heads snap to look at him.

“I was telling the story of when I got arrested for swimming naked outside the Forty Foot, which is a tradition so those soldiers were just being rude,” Oscar explains, pulling back the chair next to him so that Zolf can sit down. “How are you feeling?”

“Better, actually,” Zolf sits down. “Thank you.”

Oscar smiles at him before Earhart cuts in with, “I was just re-evaluating my opinion of Mister Wilde here. You’re not so bad.”

He raises his glass in her direction, saying “I’ll drink to that,” before bringing it to his mouth. His cheeks are slightly red, and Zolf would guess there is something heavier than water in that glass.

“Was this back in Ireland?” He asks.

Wilde nods. “I was maybe fourteen then,” he says, contemplative. “Everyone swims naked at the Forty Foot, near Dublin, so getting arrested for it was just my bad luck. But singing that guard to sleep made me realise that maybe I should try to practice my magic more, so in a way, I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t.”

“I’ve never been to Ireland.” Zolf says.

Oscar turns back to him, head cocked to the side. “You’d love it,” he says. “The sea there is cold, but… loving. And the weather complements your ‘tragic hero’ thing.”

“Alright,  _ you  _ don’t get to call anyone that.” Zolf rebuts, but he feels warmth spread through his chest as he says it.

“I’ve never been to Ireland either,” Cel says, a little too loudly. When Zolf turns to look at them, they raise a pointed eyebrow at him. “Which is really saying something, because have I mentioned that I’ve been to  _ a lot  _ of places?”

“It’s a good land,” Oscar says. His gaze is lost somewhere far away.

“We could go,” Earhart adds, turning to Cel.

They grin. “You’re right! Absolutely, let’s do that.”

“We could drop you two off as well, if you want,” Earhart adds. “After Prague.”

Zolf sees the moment Oscar visibly tenses, his brow furrowing imperceptibly.

“Not yet,” he says simply. He turns to Zolf again, grey eyes deep and calm, a veil of promise behind them. “But maybe some day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peppermint tea and warm cloth to the back of my neck are my recommended remedy for dealing with migraine induced nausea, fun fact.
> 
> Reminder, if you wanna come chat, you can find me as @oscarlovesthsea on twitter, or @jonathanjarchivistsims or @oscarlovesthesea on tumblr. I'm also usually vibing on the Rusty Quill discord server, so feel free to come chat!
> 
> Next chapter features some angst.


	4. iv. Prague

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't remember if the update was supposed to go out today or tomorrow but I'm giving it to you guys today because tomorrow I will have A Day! Hope you enjoy!
> 
> For this chapter, content warnings for Zolf being "mechanically grief stricken" and generally guilt, grief, and depression. I've tried to be as gentle as possible but I feel like this fic wouldn't have been honest if I'd just glossed over all of that, so please take extra care. if anyone needs to chat, you'll find info on where to find me at the end of the chapter and my DMs are open.
> 
> This chapter was betaed by my wonderful pal Enea, you can find him as [grassboy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grassboy/pseuds/grassboy) on ao3 and [jimmymagma](https://twitter.com/jimmymagma) on twitter.

Zolf somehow manages to survive the rest of the flight, making himself tea and seeking out Oscar when the nausea starts getting unbearable. The days are spent playing cards and sharing stories with everyone else, though Curie makes herself scarce, remaining quiet and holding herself stiffly on the few times she actually joins them.

“She has been under a lot of pressure for a very long time,” Oscar says when Zolf points it out to him, alone in the common room in their last evening of travel. “Still will be, and I am jumping ship, so…” he gestures vaguely. “I hope things with Eldarion go well.” He adds after a moment, brow furrowed. “People in her position tend to get lonely.” He says it nonchalantly, but his eyes are clouded with melancholy. Without thinking, Zolf reaches out and takes his hand, gently. Oscar looks up at him, a hint of surprise painted on his face, and his lips curve up ever so slightly.

Zolf clears his throat, trying to summon the right words to say, but before he can find anything that feels _right,_ the door slams open. Startled, he lets go of Oscar’s hand, sooner than he’d like to.

“Mister Wilde, Curie was looking for you,” Cel says, barging in. “She has some final stuff to look over before you go on your little honeymoon?”

Zolf feels his face heat up. “Not a honeymoon,” he croaks out, at which Cel shrugs, unimpressed.

“Thank you, Cel,” Oscar says, seemingly not bothered by their comment. “If you’ll excuse me.”

He leaves the room with a final look at Zolf, and Cel is quick to take up his chair.

“So, the two of you,” they say immediately, eyebrows raised in excitement. “What’s going on?”

If possible, Zolf’s face goes even redder, because Cel saw this from the beginning, and yet he has no idea how to explain it to them.

“Nothing is going on,” Zolf says, way too quickly. And then, because he’ll take any other conversation over this, he adds, “What about you and Earhart, then?”

“Oh, that?” Cel smiles. “We’re just pals. Friends, traveling together. Seeing the world. As you do, you know.”

“Somehow, I’m not convinced.”

“Well, now you know how fake you sound.”

Alright, yeah, now Zolf’s face has officially reached critical levels of red.

“I don’t know, Cel,” he says, tired.

“Explain it,” they reply, eager. “I mean it. I find that when I’m stuck on like, a device, talking about the process really is quite helpful in figuring out exactly where each piece goes and you know talking about it to someone else really makes a difference because they can chip in with their own knowledge, and two brains are better than one, right? I mean that literally, if I could install a second brain...-”

“That’s the thing,” Zolf explains, cutting off the brain talk, which is definitely not something he wants to get involved with. “I’m still figuring it out. There is things…” he trails off, struggling for words. When he looks up at Cel, they’re not looking at him expectantly, they are just quiet, observant. He takes a deep breath. “You weren’t wrong, when you asked, in Japan. Or, well, we weren’t – we’ve never been – it was a difficult time. And we are trying to figure it out, now? At least I think so? But, yeah, I’m not sure where… where any of this is going.”

“Well, to be fair, every good thing worth building takes time,” Cel says, smiling at him gently. “And I mean that, for example if I wanted to build a second brain that would take, like, at least a month to do properly?”

All of a sudden, Zolf feels lighter, even if his face is still on fire. Awkwardly, but surely, he smiles back.

*

They land in Prague the following afternoon, descending in the light rain. Waiting for them at the aeroport is a tall elf woman, her clothes neat and her hair blowing gently in the wind. Zolf hears Curie’s breath catch when she sees her, her hands twisting together. She runs in the other’s direction as soon as she sets foot on land, holding her skirt as she closes the distance between them. When they embrace, Zolf can see all of the longing and adoration between them, so clear cut and intimate that he needs to look away. When he turns to Oscar, he finds him already meeting his gaze, a small smile painted on his face.

“I’m a storyteller,” he says simply. “I love a happy ending.”

*

They leave the others at the aeroport. Curie does not leave Eldarion’s arms for the entirety of their final goodbyes, and Cel gives Zolf a big and unsubtle thumbs up before enveloping him in one last hug.

With that, Oscar and Zolf head into Prague, looking for a place to stay. They both agree that it’s better to fly under the radar, so they settle on a small and cosy inn in the old part of town. The innkeeper’s English is eager but difficult to understand, so Oscar spends ten minutes going through all the languages he speaks until they manage to successfully book a room. Oscar stops dead in his tracks after opening the room’s door, letting out a small surprised yelp.

“What’s wrong?” Zolf asks, trying to get past him.

“There might have been… a bit more of a language barrier than I expected,” Oscar says, strangled. Carefully, he steps into the room. “There is only one bed.”

“Oh.”

_Oh._

Zolf follows him into the room, taking a look at the one king-sized bed. He swallows.

“It’s fine,” Oscar says, before Zolf can open his mouth. “I can take the floor.”

“Don’t be daft,” Zolf shakes his head. “You are taller than I am, I can take the floor.”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Oscar says, pointedly not looking at him. “Since it was my mistake.”

The thing is, they’ve shared a bed before. It’s just what happens when you both struggle to stay asleep, when you spend sleepless nights talking to each other softly for hours on end, when you need someone next to you when you wake up screaming from sleep riddled with nightmares. But that was in Japan, when the world itself was a nightmare and where the only solace was each other’s arms. Things are different now, and it’s difficult to bring into the light the affection they shared under cover of darkness, the mere thought of saying it out loud making it too real and too heavy. Maybe it _was_ just a temporary balm to a heaping wound, unnecessary now that the cracks are starting to heal. There’s that, but there is also the fact that they are traveling the world together when they could have done literally anything else, and instead here they are.

“We’ve shared before, Oscar,” Zolf says, his throat tight as he pushes the words out. “We can do it again, it’s fine.”

He sees the way Oscar visibly stiffens at the words, his eyes widening as he opens in mouth in surprise, and Zolf is really, really close to taking everything back when Oscar says, “Yes, I suppose we can.”

The evening is simple after that. They eat in the tavern on the ground floor in comfortable silence, cut off by the occasional comment about the other clients, or what to do next, and they retire back to their room early in the evening, eager to get some rest somewhere more comfortable than the cots on Earhart’s ship. Sleep doesn’t come easy as they both carefully keep to their respective side of the bed, all too aware of each other’s presence. But the bed is soft and the chatter downstairs is just enough to provide a calming background and eventually, lulled by the sound of Oscar’s even breathing next to him, Zolf falls asleep.

*

The following day, they set out to do some real sight-seeing. Though a number of areas are more or less in tatters, Prague is a beautiful city, and Zolf has a good enough day until later in the afternoon, when his mood starts turning sour. It starts when they take a shortcut heading to the temple district, and accidentally pass the pub that, years ago, Zolf had spent the afternoon drinking in before making the decision of leaving his party. 

He pushes the memories down as much as he can, but - _What are we going to do now, Zolf? -_ they keep resurfacing and suffocating him - _I don’t know if we can do this without you, Zolf -_ until his ears are ringing with nothing but anger and guilt - _cheers, boss. (Not anymore.)_

His stomach twists and his gut fills with venom, building up for hours until, eventually, he spits it out in front of the Artemis temple.

“You would have liked Grizzop,” Oscar is saying, his mouth curved into a half smile. “He was-”

“So much fucking better than me at everything, yes, so I’ve been told,” Zolf snaps. The words burn his throat as they leave his mouth, bitter and corrosive.

“Zolf…” Oscar’s gaze latches onto his, lips pursed. The concern on his face is genuine, and Zolf feels like he might never have been angrier.

“Oh, please,” Zolf cuts him off. Anything, _anything_ to get this venom out of his chest. “Based on what you told me, all of this would have gone a hell of a lot smoother if I’d died and he’d stayed, you’re all just too polite to _say_ it.”

Oscar’s eyes narrow, so piercing that Zolf has to look away. “That’s not true,” he says simply.

“Then you’re too stupid to see it, which is worse.” Zolf spits out.

Oscar doesn’t look away. Unflinchingly, he says, “You are lashing out, and I’m not going to stand here and take it, Zolf.”

His tone is even and his posture is stiff, but there is something in his eyes, some kind of bitterness or frustration that makes Zolf deflate. If possible, the venom starts burning him more.

“I need to be alone right now,” he says, strangled, because that’s all he can do not to ruin one of the few good things he has. “You get back to the inn, I will-”

“No,” Oscar says. “ _You_ get back to the inn, you shouldn’t be wandering on your own right now.” His brow is furrowed with concern. “Please.” He adds, simply, and that’s enough.

He doesn’t say a word, just nods at Oscar and walks away from him. He makes it back to the inn in a blur, the past and the world around him twisting and melting into a cloud of darkness that simultaneously fuels and strips away his anger. By the time he is back in the room, sitting on the bed where only hours ago he woke up peacefully next to Oscar, the rage has subsided, swallowed by the gaping hole of _hurt_ that’s growing in his chest, and Zolf almost welcomes it, his righteous punishment for everything that he’s caused and everyone that he’s hurt. It’s his fault, of course it is. His entire life is just a tapestry with the threads tangled together by his own mistakes, and here he is in the centre of it, almost unscathed and still so, so guilty. He doesn’t know if saving the world will ever make up for any of that, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever _feel_ like he can be forgiven for his mistakes, and he almost dreads the day when he wakes with no weight on his chest. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever _deserve_ absolution.

Oscar comes back a few hours later, the sky outside having turned almost black. He opens the door slowly, takes one look at Zolf and says, “I can leave again, if you want.”

Zolf shakes his head, he’s already inconvenienced him enough because he doesn’t know how to handle his own fucking feelings. “Stay,” he croaks out. “Just… I can’t talk right now.”

“Alright,” Oscar says gently. He slips into the room, grabs what looks like a notebook from one of his bags and sits down at the little desk in the corner in silence, his presence unobtrusive but somewhat calming as he quietly scribbles away.

It’s hours later and well into the night when Zolf opens his mouth again.

“Just a couple of days before I left,” he says, the words barely making their way past his throat, “I told Sasha that as long as I stayed with her, I’d make sure she wouldn’t die. And two days later, I left her.”

Oscar is looking at him, lips pursed. Zolf sees his chest rise as he takes a deep breath before he stands up and asks, “May I?” while taking a step in his direction. At Zolf’s nod, he comes to sit next to him on the bed. He doesn’t speak, but looks at Zolf, his eyes gentle and attentive.

“Last time I was here,” Zolf continues, just slightly less strangled than before, “I was at the darkest point of my life, and I am… I am better, now. And I-” his voice breaks, but he pushes on. “Do I even deserve it? I’ve let down so many people, so many I cared about have died, but I get to sit here, and carry on, and be better. How is that fair?”

“Sasha wasn’t angry at you for leaving,” Oscar says, gently. “She was glad that you’d given her somewhere to be free, and she knew that applied to you too. Zolf, you-” he sighs. “Zolf, you’ve done so many good things, and you’ve helped so many people, and you don’t see any of it.”

“Is that true?” Zolf asks, frustrated. “Because the way I see it, all my life I’ve tried to remedy my mistakes by doing good things, and most of the time, I’ve just messed up _more._ ”

And he wants to shout that it wasn’t just Sasha, that she’s just the newest, most painful wound in a constellation of scars, that all of this goes years back, to the pirate crew he left and further, to the day he killed his brother. He doesn’t. He just retreats further into himself, looking down at his clenched hands, and stubbornly holds back a sob.

“Zolf, can I hold you?” Oscar’s voice is ever so gentle, and Zolf knows it’s selfish, he _knows_ that, but he nods, and it’s like a gate has opened and suddenly he’s sobbing into Oscar’s chest, violent, ugly sobs that he’s held back for gods know how long.

Oscar is silent as he holds him in his arms, his hands tracing soothing circles onto his back. Words are not going to solve this, not tonight and maybe ever, but for now Zolf cries into Oscar’s chest, and hopes it’s a start. 

When he wakes the following morning, Oscar’s arms still around him, his face red and puffy, the weight in his heart feels lighter for the first time in years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I brought back Eldarion for literally no plot relevant reason? Maybe so. I'm a lesbian, get with the program. 
> 
> Right, again, this chapter is a bit harder than the others so if you need to come chat, please hmu on my twitter [oscarlovesthsea](https://twitter.com/oscarlovesthsea), or on discord, you can find me vibing on the RQ discord server as (you guessed it) oscarlovesthesea. Or also, come chat if you just feel like it! I'm always happy to vibe!
> 
> Next chapter features Zolf being really fucking confused.


	5. v. Byzantium

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit later than usual due to migraine, but here's the new chapter!  
> Heads up, this chapter contains a short convo about Zolf's asexuality. I'm not ace, so giant shout out to the lovely Coins for helping me sensitivity read this, but if you still have valid criticism, absolutely feel free to hit me up with that.  
> As usual, all my love to Enea, my wonderful beta reader and friend. You can find him at [grassboy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grassboy/pseuds/grassboy) on ao3 and [jimmymagma](https://twitter.com/jimmymagma) on twitter.
> 
> EDIT: henlo, I have no brain and forgot to copypaste the letter from Zolf to Hamid that was meant to open this chapter. It's there now. Sorry about that, in my defense I posted this on a post-migraine.

_Hamid,_

_You said that if I didn’t write you’d assume we were dead and come looking for us, so this is me letting you know that we aren’t dead. Earhart dropped us off in Prague, which we are now leaving, heading to Byzantium. I’m definitely looking forward to being back on the sea._

_~~I’ve been thinking about~~ _

_~~I want to apologise~~ _

_Prague brought back some memories. I still don’t know if ~~I’ll ever forgi~~ I made the right choice, but I think at this point, all I can do is try to live with what’s left. At least, I hope that’s enough._

_~~Oscar~~ _

_~~Wilde~~ _

_Oscar told me a little bit about Grizzop. ~~I snapped at him to make myself feel better~~ It wasn’t easy to hear, to be honest, but I think I needed to. I’m glad that you and the others found someone who was there for you when I couldn’t be._

_So, anyway. I hope you and Azu are well. Cel and Earhart said they might go to Ireland next, so if you want to hear from them, that’s their general direction. ~~I reckon Oscar and I might end up there too, at some point.~~_

_Bye,_

_Zolf_

Trains seem to have started running again, so from Prague they catch one to Vienna, and from there they jump onto the Orient Express headed to Byzantium. They have no reason to pick Byzantium, other than neither of them have ever been and the train was waiting for them at the station. Somewhere on the journey, the fog that had been enveloping Zolf since Prague slowly dissipates and he starts to feel, if not fine, at least better, as he laughs at Oscar’s jokes and watches Europe go by through the windshield. They never mention it in daylight, but at night they sleep enveloped in each other’s arms, taking comfort in each other’s steady presence. Whatever it is that they are hurtling towards, it’s a simple thing, made of furtive glances and shared smiles and promises yet unspoken. He wonders if, by the end of this journey, they will have found out what they are looking for.

Not all the routes have been reopened completely, so they have to step off the train in Varna to catch a boat for the final stretch across the Black Sea. Except, like idiots, they get distracted by the gardens on the sea, and manage to miss their boat.

“It would be just for a day,” Oscar negotiates with the first fisherman who speaks English they can find. “We can pay, and my companion here is an excellent sailor, he could help out.” Zolf sees the moment he goes to offer his old, perfect smile, and the moment he realises that it’s not something he can do anymore. Oscar’s eyes darken for just a second before he collects himself, glancing down at his purse full of gold.

“With this wind,” Zolf cuts in, “you could really use an extra hand on that boat.”

The fisherman looks down and meets Zolf’s gaze for what he’s pretty sure is the first time. His eyes widen slightly, and a smile that Zolf isn’t sure how to interpret appears on his face.

“You can sail?” He asks Zolf, an eyebrow raised.

“I mean, yeah. I’m a sailor.”

The fisherman’s smile widens. “Name’s Serhan. What’s yours?”

Zolf swallows. He’s not the one who usually does the talking, but the man seems dead set on speaking to him instead of Oscar.

“Zolf Smith.”

Sehran offers him his hand. “Tell you what, Zolf,” he says, still not looking up at Oscar, “I was heading to Byzantium anyway. If you help me out, I’ll take you there for free.”

Zolf glances at Oscar. His face is tight, but he nods, and Zolf goes to shake Sehran’s hand.

*

Oscar is uncomfortable. That much has been clear to Zolf since they stepped onto Sehran’s small boat. The _why_ he’s still working on, but he keeps glancing between Zolf and Sehran like either of them could explode at any time. Sehran, on the other hand, has been casually ignoring Oscar in favour of speaking to Zolf, which is both weird and confusing, because who the hell speaks to Zolf when Oscar is right there, infinitely more charismatic?

“So, Zolf,” Sehran asks, still smiling in that way he can’t pin down, “how did you learn to sail?”

“Was navy for a while,” Zolf says, carefully leaving out the part about being a pirate, because you can never know.

“Really? Wouldn’t have pegged you for navy, they’re usually so…” Sehran makes a disgusted face. “You know? And you are, well…” he raises his eyebrows at Zolf, and Zolf is so, so lost in this interaction. Instead of replying, he looks down at the rope he’s holding and starts tying it properly into place.

“You know your knots,” Sehran points out from somewhere behind him.

“I mean, yeah, I’m a sailor.”

“Got good hands for it, too,” Sehran adds. “Bet you could do really nice things with those hands.”

“Zolf is a very skilled sailor,” Oscar cuts in before Zolf can be even more confused. When Zolf looks up at him, his gaze is hard and his jaw is set. “I have been able to see that in the years we spent working together.” He puts a strange emphasis on _years,_ and _together,_ and Zolf has no idea what’s going on.

Sehran turns to look at him for the first time since they set sail. “So, what are you two doing anyway? Honeymoon?”

Zolf almost drops the rope he’s holding, but if Oscar is bothered, he doesn’t give any sign. Smoothly, he says, “No, we’re just traveling.”

“Ah, good to know,” Sehran smiles, turning back to Zolf. “Not married, then? No partner? Boyfriend, girlfriend?”

“What? No.” Zolf splutters. He can feel his face going red.

“Really? Someone as handsome as you, and you haven’t got anyone?”

“What?” Zolf asks, because while he doesn’t care, he’s pretty sure that’s a bit rude.

“Doesn’t have to stay that way…” raising his eyebrows, Sehran shoots him a grin.

 _Hold on_. Hold on a second.

He looks up at Oscar, just to see if he’s reading the situation correctly, but he finds him very pointedly not looking back, staring out at the sea instead, his eyes semi-closed and his hair waving in the wind. Zolf opens his mouth, then closes it.

“Ah, I see how it is,” Sehran says after a moment. “That’s alright.”

Zolf doesn’t know what he means, but Sehran goes quieter after that, and they get back to work.

*

“We could still get dinner, if you wanted,” Sehran tells Zolf once they’ve finally docked in Byzantium..

Zolf can feel his face redden. Next to him, Oscar has gone very still.

“Uhm, I don’t think so,” Zolf croaks out. “Uh, sorry.”

“Ah, worth a shot,” Sehran waves him off. “Thanks for helping me out, anyway.”

He leaves like that, shooting Zolf one final smile, without looking back.

“What the hell was that?” Zolf asks Oscar as soon as he’s gotten far enough.

Oscar raises his eyebrows at him. “Come on, you’re not that oblivious.”

“No, I mean, I can see what he was doing, I mean _why._ ”

If possible, Oscar’s eyebrows shoot up even higher. “Alright, maybe you are.”

*

“You could have taken him up on it,” Oscar tells him later that night, over dinner. The words come out of nowhere, but his face is guarded, the same way it was when Zolf had to quarantine after a mission. His eyes are cold.

“What, Sehran?”

“Yes,” Oscar nods. “For starters, he probably would have been able to find a place better than this.” He gestures vaguely around the tavern they’re sitting at. It’s a dark and mingy place, in a way that reminds Zolf of Other London. The more things change, he supposes.

“I think he had a bit more than dinner on his mind.”

“Not bad looking, though.”

Slowly, Zolf sets down his fork. He’s not had this conversation with Oscar, never been particularly eager to, either. Oscar probably knows – he _must_ know, he knows Zolf too well, there’s no way he hasn’t figured it out – but still his stomach drops. He doubts Oscar would be a dick about it, but, well.

“You know I don’t really do that, right?”

Oscar also sets down his fork, looking up at Zolf. “What do you mean?” He asks, his voice even, his eyes attentive.

Zolf swallows. “Sex. Especially with – with complete strangers, but also, I just,” he looks down at his hands. “I never had much interest in it? I fall in love with people, for who they are, but that part of it, I’ve never really cared for.”

“So, no dinner with Sehran.” Oscar says slowly. “I had an idea, but I wasn’t going to assume anything, not unless you told me openly.”

“Well, there you go.”

“I don’t mind,” Oscar adds, the words sounding like they’d been queued up. “I mean, I wouldn’t-” he stops, takes a deep breath. “Hypothetically, if someone I had… feelings for felt that way, I would not mind. Hypothetically, that is.” He’s looking at Zolf very carefully as he speaks.

“Yeah?”

“I can see why it might look like I would, considering my… history, but, no. That would not be an issue for me.”

“We are talking hypothetically, of course.”

Oscar waves his hand. “Yes, entirely hypothetically.”

Zolf picks up his fork again as his chest floods gently with relief. “Alright, good to know.”

*

Despite a not very promising first meal, Byzantium is beautiful, and different from any other place Zolf has seen. They spend hours on end getting lost in the colourful alleys and the magnificent temples. Oscar’s face goes red when he takes up (and fails) Zolf’s challenge to try some unknown spice, but he smiles when Zolf laughs at him. They walk along the walls on the Dardanelles strait, talking about nothing and discussing their new destination (after throwing out more options than plausible, they settle on Crete).

It's during their last day in Byzantium that they make a stupid decision, and accidentally get involved with helping out a merchant whose warehouse is supposedly haunted. Well, accidentally is not really the correct way of putting, since they both volunteer for the task at the sight of the merchant’s teenage daughter, who’s holding back tears as she explains the reason she can’t go back and get the food they asked for is that she’s scared of the shadowy things in the warehouse.

“You know, I actually believed we were going to take a break, for once.” He says to Oscar as they head to the warehouse, accompanied by the merchant’s son.

Oscar shrugs. “Hey, it will be like old times.”

Suddenly, Zolf is hit by the realisation. “You…” he shakes his head, halfway between sighing and laughing. “You are actually an adrenaline junkie. How am I only learning this now?”

“I am _very_ sensible.”

“What sensible _poet_ works for the Meritocrats?” Zolf laughs. “Gods, your entire life makes so much sense now.”

“Alright,” Oscar sighs, “maybe I don’t mind a bit of adventure. But that’s not saying much, coming from the ex-pirate.”

“You convinced all of us that you were just a bookish man, with your desk and your paperwork, and yet-”

“Zolf, can I tell you a secret?” Oscar looks at him, one eyebrow raised.

“Go ahead?”

“I _hated_ the paperwork.”

Zolf bursts out laughing. Oscar Wilde is, he realises now, kind of ridiculous. And also, one of the most impressive men he’s ever known.

“Genuinely, you’d think that something combining writing and secret spy work would be interesting, and yet.” When he smiles, his eyes lit up, and Zolf laughs even harder.

“Uhm, we’re here.” The merchant’s son, whose name is Emin, cuts in. He’s nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“Thank you, we can probably handle ourselves from here.” Zolf tells him after a moment, once he’s teared his gaze away from Oscar.

Emir gives them an awkward nod. “Good luck.”

“Alright, then.” Zolf shrugs as they head in.

The warehouse is dark, but it’s not quiet, which surprises Zolf. There’s a faint sound of whispering, running along the wall like a cool breeze, making the darkness all the more unwelcoming. The air is eerily still.

“What’s with the whispers?” Zolf asks, but before he can say any more, there’s a piercing, searing pain in his thigh, and then a lot of things happen at once.

Something, looking like a puff of white wind, floats away from him as the pain lightly subdues. When the thing stills, it looks like a child in a white cloud of smoke, but its head is an elongated animal skull. The skeletal mouth isn’t moving, but it’s whispering so, so loudly.

Louder than the whispers, though, is Oscar’s voice, who’s looking at the creature and singing. He looks enraged, but the song is beautiful, reminding Zolf of peaceful times at sea, of sitting with his friends eating lobster before everything fell apart, of dancing with them when the world started mending itself again. It fills Zolf’s chest with warmth until, all of a sudden, it’s interrupted by the whispers growing louder. Oscar grasps at his throat, his eyes widening in fear for a second as his voice runs out. It’s almost unsettling, the way he collects himself in the span of a moment and turns around to swing a dagger at another creature nearer to him, one that Zolf hadn’t spotted. Zolf didn’t even know he _carried_ daggers.

The creature closest to Zolf leaps up at him again, but this time he swings his glaive around fast enough that it gets caught at the end of it, and when Zolf sends a swirl of holy energy in its direction it turns to dust. When he turns back, Oscar is standing away from the other creature, holding another dagger. Instead of attacking him, it leaps in Zolf’s direction, which is not ideal, because he won’t have time to hit it before it gets to him. But before the creature can reach Zolf, Oscar jumps in its way, so that it bites straight into his stomach instead. He doesn’t cry out, but drops to the floor heavily, holding his side, and Zolf takes his chance to strike the creature with his glaive.

He doesn’t spare a look at it as it dissolves into dust, instead casting a quick restoration spell on himself, the flesh in his thigh restoring itself as he drops down to the floor next to Oscar. His shirt is pooling quickly with blood, and this is the second time they are in this situation in what’s been frankly too short of a time, and he might need to give Oscar a stern talking to.

“You alright?” He asks, pressing his hands to his wound.

Oscar opens his mouth, but no sound comes out.

“It’s alright, I got you,” he says, channeling as much healing energy as he can into his hands.

Oscar gasps. “Thank you,” he says, after a moment.

“Bloody idiot,” Zolf says still holding down Oscar’s wound as it slowly stitches itself back together. “What on earth did you jump in front of it for?”

“It took my voice,” Oscar says, breathing heavily. “What else was I going to do to defend you?”

“Self-sacrificing idiot,” Zolf mutters. He can probably take his hands off Oscar now, but he finds that he doesn’t really want to. “That was incredible, by the way. What you did without even using your magic.”

“Yeah, well,” Oscar says. His eyes are wide. “Got cursed. Had to learn some tricks. You did pretty good, too.”

“We make a decent team.”

Oscar smiles slightly, just a corner of his mouth lifting as he considers Zolf. “Zolf?”

“Yeah?” They are very close, now.

“Maybe you were right,” Oscar sighs. “Maybe we deserve a real break.”

“No chasing down the first monster we find?”

Oscar looks down, his cheeks colouring with pink. Zolf could kiss him now, he realises. He’s wanted to for some time, he knows that, as much as he’s been trying not to acknowledge it, but now he could just lean over and kiss him on the cold warehouse floor. Along with the usual spike of anxiety, his stomach contracts pleasantly at the thought.

“Oscar Wilde, you are an idiot, you know that?” He says instead.

“You’ve called me that so many times today.”

“It was always well deserved.”

“You like it, though.”

Zolf laughs. Gently, carefully, he lays his head on Oscar’s shoulder. “Yeah. Maybe I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, if you'd like to come chat, you can find me on twitter as [oscarlovesthsea](https://twitter.com/oscarlovesthsea) . I'm also usually chilling on the RQ discord server.  
> Also, I'm updating a couple of tags as I remember them, don't worry about it too much!
> 
> Next chapter features me being incredibly self indulgent and sending them on holiday to the tiny village in Greece I used to go to as a child (and also some angst).


	6. vi. Plakias

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter update! Bit of a warning with this one because we're dealing with Wilde maybe expressing his emotions a little bit. He's fine, stop asking.
> 
> I also would like everyone to know that I'm a capitol D dumbass and forgot to copypaste the letter to Hamid that was meant to open the last chapter. It's been added now, so if you missed it do go back and read it if you want. It will provide context for this one, at least.
> 
> As usual, all my love to Enea, my wonderful beta reader and friend. You can find him at [grassboy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grassboy/pseuds/grassboy) on ao3 and [jimmymagma](https://twitter.com/jimmymagma) on twitter.

_ Dear Zolf, _

_ I hope Byzantium is treating you well. Azu and I are in Kenya now, she’s introduced me to her family and they are all wonderful. She has been away for a long time, so I think we will stay here for a bit. Not sure what we will do next, to be honest, but I don’t think either of us would be able to stay still for too long, and Azu has to go back to paladin work, eventually. We might reconvene with Cel and Earhart and travel some more, maybe visit America, but we shall see. _

_ It’s good to see that you and Oscar are on first name basis now. You’d think it’d be about time, considering you have eloped together. Azu says hi to both of you, by the way, but she says she is going to write to you personally, and that you shouldn’t worry too much about what she is going to say. So, in case you weren’t worried, now you can be. _

_ Thank you for _

_ I was so angry _

_ I was angry at you when you left, Zolf. You know that. But I am starting to believe that maybe things were meant to go like this from the start. Maybe, if none of it had happened, we wouldn’t have been able to save the world. It’s what you said, I think. We live with what’s left. _

_ Give Oscar my greetings, Zolf. It was good to hear from you. _

_ Always yours, _

_ Hamid Saleh Haroun Al-Tahan _

It’s a couple of days’ sail from Byzantium to Crete. To Zolf’s surprise, Oscar handles it incredibly well, spending hours standing on the deck and looking out at the sea, the wind ruffling his hair. The sea air frizzles it wildly, but to Zolf’s surprise Oscar doesn’t attempt to prestidigitate it back into order (“Too much effort,” Oscar shrugs when Zolf asks about it). There are moments when Zolf catches him sitting on deck, pale skin almost translucent in the sunlight, and wonders what it would be like to run his hands through his hair, gently comb it down with his fingers. Zolf’s been doing absolutely fine since the warehouse, the conscious realisation that he’d like to kiss Oscar has not affected him in any way, and no, he doesn’t need to talk about it. Not yet, at least.

“Why Crete, anyway?” Zolf asks him on their last afternoon of sailing. “Why not the mainland?”

Oscar shrugs. “Three years ago, I would have insisted on Athens. But, I don’t know. New me, I suppose.” He looks back down at his notebook, pursing his lips. Though he’s been careful to keep the notebook away from Zolf , Zolf has caught him scribbling in private on every day of their journey. “I’m surprised you didn’t take more convincing, anyway. With your whole…” gestures vaguely towards the sea at the end of the deck. “Poseidon business?”

“I’m surprised he hasn’t tried to sink us yet,” Zolf says, “I thought he would have made more of a fuss.”

“You think he’s just grateful that we saved the world?”

Zolf sighs. “Is it ever that easy?”

Oscar looks up at him, offering a half smile. “I guess we’ll find out.”

*

Differently from his peg leg, Zolf’s new prosthetics actually allow him to swim almost normally, though for limited lengths of time. After spending their first couple of days in Crete sightseeing and learning about the Minoan civilisation (which, Oscar informs him with the confidence of someone who spent way too long reading about it, is not the same thing as the ancient Greek civilisation), they decide to hope that Poseidon isn’t going to attempt to drown them on sight and take a day off instead. The village they’re staying in, Plakias, is further removed from the bigger towns on the island, which allows them to find a small empty beach to spend the day in.

For the first time since he lost his leg, Zolf swims, and loses himself in the immense blue in front of him. To his surprise, Oscar dives in with him, seemingly taking as a challenge Zolf’s assumption that he wouldn’t.

“So Poseidon hasn’t tried to drown us, yet,” Oscar says emerging from the water, hair sticking to his face. “Do you think we are safe?”

“At this point, I have no idea.”

“You never did tell me how you ended up worshiping him in the first place,” Oscar points out, and Zolf almost laughs at that. Despite everything they’ve been through, despite the deep-seated understanding of each other that they’ve developed going through hell together for months, there’s still so many things Oscar doesn’t know about his past.

“Poseidon saved my life,” he says. He’s wiggling his legs under the surface to stay afloat. “My ship from when I was with the navy got wrecked in a storm, and I just, took a leap of faith, I guess. Jumped into the water and prayed for or to Poseidon to keep me safe, and well…”

“You survived.”

“Got picked up by pirates,” Zolf nods. “Stayed with them for a bit, lost my leg, and after a while, I was too much of a liability on the ship. They would never have said, but still.”

“What happened to them?”

Zolf has wondered, over the years. He’s asked himself if he should try to find out. Every time, the weight of possibility has been enough to drown him. “I don’t know,” he exhales.

Oscar looks down. At the depth they’re at, he doesn’t need to swim to stay afloat, but he waves his arms in the water, small waves rippling away from him. “Why the navy?” He asks after a moment.

It’s only fitting, Zolf thinks, that so much talk about his past would emerge here, in the water, and yet, there are things that he’s told so few people, weights that he doesn’t know how to live without, that he’s not ready to share with Oscar, yet. It almost angers him.

“I hated mining,” he starts, slowly. “I hated being in the mines. They’re dark and cold and suffocating and there’s nothing to  _ do  _ other than dig and feel bad for yourself.” The words tumble out of his mouth before he expects them to. “So I would sneak away from the mine as much as I could, and go sail on the Severn just to feel like the world wasn’t closing in on me.” There had been an old fisherman who’d first shown him how to sail. Strange, Zolf had almost forgotten him. “And then my brother died,” he exhales. He’s never told Oscar about Feryn, but if he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it. “And I ran away. The first time I saw the open sea I thought I’d found a home.”

“And had you?”

“A bit,” Zolf says, thinking. “I don’t think I’d realised that I needed more than just the sea, I needed… friends. People.” When he looks up at Oscar, hoping that his gaze can convey the words he doesn’t know if he can say, he finds him looking back, that careful, guarded expression of his painted on his face. The corner of his mouth lifts up, grey eyes open and questioning. Feeling his face go red, Zolf dives into the water. When he emerges, Oscar is splashing him with his hands.

“What was that for?” Zolf laughs, then splashes him back.

Oscar makes an outraged sound, covering his face with his hands. “Oh, come on!”

“You started it!”

Oscar laughs, waves rippling lightly with the sound in a way that is probably magical, then splashes him again, and then again, until they’re engaged in complex water warfare. Their battle takes a significantly more exciting turn when, in a fit of giggles, they realise they can use magic for it, and comes to an end when Oscar’s water dragon crashes into Zolf’s sea-horse, water exploding on all sides.

“Right, that was just showing off,” Zolf laughs, finally dragging himself out of the water.

“Oh, like you weren’t,” Oscar says, joining him on the shore. They lie on the sand together, letting the sun dry them off, their silence occasionally interrupted by a new fit of giggles. Zolf had almost forgotten what this light, happy carelessness felt like, the strangest feeling of peace enveloping him.

“I didn’t peg you for such a, you know, water person.” Zolf says eventually, turning to look at Oscar.

“No, I like the sea,” Oscar says, still looking up. Since they got out of the water, he’s been very pointedly looking anywhere but at Zolf. He isn’t sure what that’s about. “When I was a child, a day out to Dún Laoghaire was one of the most exciting things I could hope for. And I told you how I got arrested at the Forty Foot,” the corner of his lips quirks up for a moment. “So, yes, I like the sea and I like swimming, I just… I hadn’t done it in years.”

For a moment, the weight of all the things they still don’t know about each other presses down on Zolf, but he pushes it away, stubbornly. They’re here now. This is their time to find out.

“Why did you leave Ireland?” He asks. “You never talk about it.”

“Well, you are in no position to lecture me about not talking about the past,” Oscar says but there is no real edge to his voice. “I suppose it was the same as you, really, I felt suffocated. I wanted life to be exciting, to feel bigger, and I wanted to write. So I left.”

“But you miss it.” It’s clear in the way he talks about it, longing seeping through his voice, the way his eyes lose focus whenever he thinks about his childhood, looking at memories of a distant past and a distant place.

“I do,” Oscar nods. He’s still not looking at Zolf. “I’ve had enough excitement for a lifetime, and I will always think of Ireland as home. But I am the one who left, and I’m not sure when she’ll be ready to welcome me back.”

Zolf thinks about it, about finding a home, about a land of ancient magic and sea and wind, about four walls and a warm fireplace, and maybe the company of someone he loves. Not yet, of course, but soon, maybe. Strangely enough, it doesn’t feel like an impossible, distant dream anymore.

“I’m guessing you wouldn’t want to go back to your hometown,” Oscar adds after a moment, finally turning to look at him. His hair is still damp, sticking slightly to the side of his face.

“No,” Zolf exhales. “Nothing left for me there. I only cared about the people, and they’re gone, so.”

“Were they all the family you had?” Oscar asks carefully.

“As far as I’m aware,” Zolf shrugs. “I think I might have an uncle in Svalbard, but I was born in England and I’ve never met him, so I don’t know if it counts.”

Oscar nods, looking away from him, lost in thought. “But you have people, now.”

“Yeah,” Zolf swallows. “Family I chose and all that. Speaking of which, remind me to write a letter to Hamid before he thinks we’ve been murdered.”

Oscar lets out a soft laugh. He’s looking up at the sky, and for a moment he looks lost, younger than Zolf has ever seen him. He collects himself in the span of a second, but Zolf knows him enough to know that that doesn’t mean much for his general state of mind, and it’s not that he hasn’t noticed that despite their cheerfulness today, Oscar’s been off for the last couple of days. Knowing when Oscar is upset is always in noticing the small things, the way he tries to delay when he’s going to sleep for as long as possible, how he sometimes trails off in the middle of a sentence, gaze unfocused. But Oscar is too proud, too guarded, and Zolf doesn’t know how he’ll react to asking about it, especially since Zolf has never been the best at, well, anything to do with people, really. So, for now, with a pang of helpless frustration, he lets it go.

*

It comes to an end a couple of days later, late at night, when Oscar spends the evening hunched over his notebook, scribbling almost obsessively.

“Are you planning on getting some sleep any time soon?” Zolf calls from the bed.

“Later,” Oscar says, not looking up.

Zolf bites his lip. If Oscar had been slightly off for a couple of days, today he’s barely been present, almost not reacting to Zolf’s presence at all, his attention enraptured by the notebook. If Zolf didn’t know that Oscar gets like this sometimes, he would have been offended, but as things stand, he’s just worried.

He takes a deep breath. “If I ask, will you tell me what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Oscar waves him off.

“Yeah, that’s a lie.”

Oscar still doesn’t look up, but his pen stills on the paper.

“What is it?” Zolf asks again, as soft as he can.

He sees the way Oscar’s shoulders rise and fall. He’s holding very still.

“I can’t write,” he says eventually, his voice steadier than it should be. “Well, I can, but it’s not…” he exhales, taking a shaky breath. “The words are good, but I used to… writing used to make me so happy. And then I stopped, because I didn’t have the time, because there was a world to save, and now…” all of a sudden, his voice cracks, years of suffering flowing through the words. “It feels so empty. I have all these thoughts and… and these feelings I want to write down, and I just feel so  _ empty. _ ” The air crackles as he speaks, magic burning through the air.

“Well, an empty man doesn’t do  _ that _ ,” Zolf says, carefully getting up to go sit next to Oscar at the desk.

Oscar chuckles breathlessly. “I miss writing,” he sniffles. “I miss the man I was before, I miss being careless and I miss the way I looked before all of this happened and I just…” he lets out a sob, broken and profound, and Zolf could swear that the table trembles with it. “I wouldn’t change any of it if I could, but I,” he rubs at his face, aggressively wiping away his tears, “but I just want to feel fine again. I don’t want to be…” he gestures vaguely, letting out another sob.

As gently as he can, Zolf takes his hand mid-air, lowering it as he traces soothing circles onto his palm. With his other hand, he leans forward, cupping his cheek, wiping the tears away. Oscar steadies slightly under the touch, leaning into his hand.

“I don’t know if we’ll ever be fine,” Zolf croaks out. “But that’s all we can do, right? We carry on?”

Oscar makes a strangled, guttural sound. “Zolf, I -” he cuts himself off, shaking his head. After a moment, he adds, “I know this - me being like this, I know it’s not ideal.”

“Hey, you were holding me as I sobbed into your chest ten days ago,” he says, his gut twisting with the helplessness of it all. “I think it’s fine.”

“I think…” Oscar exhales. “I think we might end up doing this a lot, if we, you know, stay together.”

This is not the time, but Zolf’s face goes red at what the words imply. He caresses Oscar’s face one last time, then brings his hand down, to hold Oscar’s between both of his.

“I think that’s fine,” he says, offering his best attempt at an encouraging smile. Though wobbly, and teary, Oscar smiles back.

“Yeah?” He asks, lips pursed.

“Yeah.”

They remain still, hands entwined, leaning against each other, for what could be hours. As he holds Oscar, Zolf finds a strange comfort in the knowledge that ahead of him, he might have a future of this. A future of holding each other through the hard times as, ever so slowly, they start to heal. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you'd like to come chat, you can find me on twitter as [oscarlovesthsea](https://twitter.com/oscarlovesthsea) . I'm also usually chilling on the RQ discord server.  
> Also, I'm afraid that the next chapter might be a bit delayed - I will be without wifi for a few days so posting might be difficult, but I will do my best to avoid making you wait too long. See you (hopefully) soon!
> 
> Next chapter features Wilde being very cold - for once physically, not emotionally.
> 
> (P.S.: I know I haven't been replying to comments lately - just know that I see them all and they fuel me, and I hope to catch up at some point!)


	7. vii. Svalbard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I have dragged myself to village centre just so that I could get some wifi to post this more or less on time, so I hope you like the chapter! Disclaimer that for this chapter I have officially murdered canon - I have absolutely no clue what will happen or what we will find in Svalbard, and I planned this before I even knew that the party would actually get there in the podcast. It's okay, the author is dead! (sorry, Alex.)
> 
> As usual, all my love to Enea, my wonderful beta reader and friend. You can find him at [grassboy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grassboy/pseuds/grassboy) on ao3 and [jimmymagma](https://twitter.com/jimmymagma) on twitter.

_Dear Zolf,_

_I received a letter from Oscar saying that you were in Greece, so I do hope that Poseidon hasn’t drowned you by the time this letter reaches you. I put in a good word with Aphrodite for you, so hopefully that will help._

_~~Do you ever think about the fact that Aphrodite and Poseidon are consorts in some legends?~~ _

_Before you ask, yes, Oscar and I write letters to each other sometimes. Do not worry about that too much either._

_I hope this journey has been good for both of you, Zolf. Oscar said that you have been avoiding thinking about the future too much, and to tell you the truth, so have I. I think we have spent so long fearing that there wouldn’t be a future that we don’t know what to do now that that future is here. I used to think that becoming High Priestess of Aphrodite would be my highest achievement in life, but I don’t know if that’s true anymore. I have come to doubt that Aphrodite cares about titles, as well as my own suitability to temple life. ~~What’s it like for you? Not to have rules~~ I hope I can do some good anyway. It seems like all this talk of the future has made me think about the past, and I wonder if it’s the same for you. _

_I hope you and Oscar are keeping each other company. ~~I don’t want to be too forward~~ We all saw how close you were when we were working together. I don’t even know if the two of you even realised how visible it was, but I do have Aphrodite on my side, so I’m good at catching this sort of thing. Whatever it is, I hope you figure it out._

_All my love,_

_Azu_

It’s a stupid idea, Zolf knows it as soon as he thinks of it, but for some reason, he brings it up anyway. Oscar raises an eyebrow at him when he does, but doesn’t argue, simply asks if he’s sure, carefully holding his gaze.

“Yeah,” Zolf exhales under the scrutiny. “I mean, as sure as I’m ever going to be, anyway.”

“Alright,” Oscar concedes. “We’ll have to get a boat to Athens, and then hope for a teleport from there.”

It’s their last night in Plakias, and they’ve carried themselves to the same beach they’d spent their day off in to look at the stars. Oscar has conjured some magic lights to make up for his inability to see in the dark, and they’re now gently floating in the night. The suffused light around them and the sound of the waves against the sand bring some sort of peacefulness to the air, and even this conversation doesn’t seem too scary.

“May I ask why?” Oscar asks after a moment, looking out at the sea.

The truth is, Zolf doesn’t know. It has something to do with the longing in Oscar’s voice when he talks about Ireland, the desire for a home, and his own tiredness at running away from a past he’s been so careful to leave behind. And while there is nothing left for him in his hometown, maybe it’s time to reconcile with what is left.

“I don’t know,” is what he says eventually. “Just feels like I have to see it at least once? Since we’re on this - journey of self-discovery and all.”

The corner of Oscar’s lip quirks imperceptibly. Carefully, he goes to lay his hand on top of Zolf’s on the sand and, despite himself, it feels like Zolf’s stomach has just jumped into his throat.

“Alright,” Oscar says again. As he does, Zolf turns his hand so that he can intertwine his fingers with Oscar’s, and this time, Oscar smiles for real.

*

To Zolf’s surprise, he doesn’t immediately hate it as much as he thought he would. They find a teleport from Athens easily, so the hardest part is going from the almost aggressive warmth of Greece to the freezing cold of Svalbard. They’ve wrapped up for the occasion, but the backlash is still more than expected, and Oscar’s hand stiffens in his as soon as the cold air touches his skin.

“Gods, Ireland is cold, but this is just excessive,” he mutters, taking off layers once they’ve made their way to the warmth of an inn.

“It’s not that bad,” Zolf shrugs. “And I’m not saying that because I’m a dwarf, it’s ’cause I’m a sailor.”

Oscar waves him away. “Inhuman, is what you are.”

“I mean, yeah. Dwarf.”

Oscar hides his face in his hands. “You know what I mean,” he says, tiredly.

“Yeah, I’m pulling your leg,” Zolf says, lightly brushing his elbow with his hand.

Oscar looks at him from behind his hands, eyebrows raised.

“So, what now?” he asks, dropping his hands down and letting himself fall on the bed.

“Haven’t planned that far,” Zolf says, dropping down next to him. “Was too focused on getting here, to be honest.”

Oscar takes his hand, almost casually. “Do you want to try to find your relatives?”

Zolf inhales. He could. He  _ should,  _ realistically, but what if they don’t want to see him? What if they blame him for leaving his parents to die alone, what if they know about what he’s done to Feryn?

“Would you? If you were me?”

Oscar tenses against him. After a moment, he says, “I think so.”

Zolf turns to look at him. He realises now that despite having come all the way here, he knows nothing about Oscar’s family. Oscar must be thinking the same, because he clears his throat.

“I have a brother in Dublin,” he says. “Still alive, I asked the Harlequins to check. We never liked each other, but his daughter is excellent. Haven’t spoken to him in years, but now I’m wondering if I should change that.”

“When we are done here…” Zolf starts.

“Yes, I think so.” Oscar interrupts him. When Zolf squeezes his hand, he relaxes imperceptibly.

Well, there’s that, Zolf supposes. Maybe it  _ is _ time to stop running away.

“So, we should look for a local registry I guess,” he exhales. He doesn’t let go of Oscar’s hand as he gets up, so he drags him to stand up with him. Oscar laughs breathlessly as he does.

“Do you know any Endure Elements spells?” He asks, raising his eyebrows.

“You’re so dramatic,” Zolf laughs, but he’s still holding his hand, and takes that chance to cast the spell. Oscar smiles, and Zolf knows he’s not fooling him for one second.

*

It takes a few hours of going through records before finding him, but eventually they manage to get their hands on the address of a Harlen Smith in Longyearbyen, living with his wife. Oscar holds his hand as they wait at the door, and squeezes it when a dwarven woman with brown hair opens the door. She raises her eyebrows at them.

“Who are you?” She asks, in Dwarvish.

Zolf takes a deep breath. “My name is Zolf Smith,” he says after a moment, Dwarvish feeling almost foreign on his tongue after so long. “I’m… I’m Hirald’s son.”

She looks at him for a moment, brow furrowed. “Wait here,” she says eventually, and slams the door in their face. Zolf sighs, squeezing Oscar’s hand harder than he probably should.

“Are you alright?” Oscar asks, not letting go.

“Yeah,” Zolf exhales. “It’s fine, this is fine. You alright?”

“It’s just hit me that I don’t speak Dwarwish,” Oscar says.

“Should you?”

“I don’t know. I can use magic, for today, but maybe I should learn.”

“Why?” Zolf asks, turning to look at him.

Oscar stiffens. “Do I have to say it?”

“Yes,” Zolf says. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Oscar sighs, not looking at him. Zolf could swear his ears have gone slightly red.

“I don’t want to have to use magic to speak to your family, Zolf.”

Oh.  _ Oh.  _ “Oscar…”

The door opens again, this time revealing a male dwarf. He’s shorter and stockier than Zolf, and barely reaches Oscar’s waist. His brown hair and beard are grizzled with white.

“Zolf,” he says, “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Hi, uncle.” Zolf exhales. Oscar’s hand in his is the only thing keeping him from turning on his heels and leaving.

Harlen gives him a long look, clearly evaluating him. After a moment, he asks, “Who is your tall friend?”

Zolf opens his mouth, trying and failing to conjure an introduction. Perhaps sensing his discomfort, Oscar leans forward and goes to shake Harlen’s hand.

“Oscar Wilde, pleased to meet you,” he says, now in perfect Dwarvish. “I’m a friend of Zolf’s.”

Harlen shakes his hand, then looks down at Zolf. “We should probably talk inside.” He says, moving to the side and letting them through. “Sorry, Mister Wilde, you’re going to have to duck.”

“Call me Oscar, please,” Oscar says, following him inside. He’s still holding Zolf’s hand, so he brings him along with him. He only lets go of his hand after Harlen has led them into a tidy kitchen, three cups of tea steaming on the table as he gestures for them to sit down. Oscar looks a bit ridiculous in the tiny chair, but Zolf can’t help but smile at the determination with which he conceals whatever embarrassment he might be feeling.

“So, Zolf,” Harlen says, sitting down across from him. “Hirald wrote about you. That was some time ago, now.”

“Yes, I know, I’m sorry,” Zolf says. “’have been… busy.”

Harlen raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Busy,” he says, slowly. “And what brings you here now?”

Zolf swallows. He’s rehearsed the answer in his head over and over, but as Harlen’s brown eyes, so similar to Zolf’s father’s, dig into him, he comes up with nothing. He picks up the mug on the table, lets a big sip burn his tongue as he buys himself time. Desperately wishes it was something stronger than tea.

“I mean, the world ended,” he says eventually, putting the mug down. “And I just… after all of that, I decided it was time.”

“We didn’t see much of that, here,” Harlen shrugs. “You got caught up in it?”

Next to him, Oscar lets out a long breath in a well concealed laugh. From the start, they knew that their involvement in saving the world would remain a secret, but there is still something painfully funny about talking to someone who’s been so untouched by it all.

“We did our best to help,” Oscar says.

Harlen turns to him for a moment, then looks back to Zolf. “That’s all heroic, but you ran away from home,” he says slowly. “Hirald said in his letter. You weren’t even at their funeral.”

“I know,” Zolf says, the words sharp against his throat. “I’ll never… I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for the mistakes I made when I was younger, and I should not… I should not have left the way I did, and I – I don’t want to say that me being here is me trying to fix it, because I don’t think I can ever do enough to fix that, but. Here I am.” He sniffles. He’s trying very,  _ very  _ hard not to cry in front of this man he’s just met.

“Why did you leave them?”

_ Shame. Regret. Guilt. _

“I thought they would have been happier without me,” Zolf exhales. “I’ve realised now that was probably stupid.”

Something in Harlen’s gaze shifts, and he clasps his hands together. “Well, Zolf, good thing you’re here, because I have something important to tell you.” He opens his hands, then lays them on the table, on top of Zolf’s. His gaze pins Zolf’s down, and for a moment, Zolf thinks he might suffocate under its scrutiny. Then, almost suddenly, it softens. “I forgive you.” Harlen says. “Whatever you did decades ago, I don’t care. There’s basically only the two of us left, and I’d like to get to know my nephew. So, tell me about you.”

Zolf takes a deep breath, his hands still in Harlen’s, and starts talking.

*

They promise to stay in touch before leaving, in a way that feels more than just empty words. That night, Zolf lies awake in Oscar’s arms, face hidden in his chest. The darkness does nothing to hide the fact that neither of them are sleeping, but it’s a peaceful kind of wake, a lazy wait for something to come.

“I’ve never told you about my brother, have I?” Zolf asks against Oscar’s chest.

Oscar’s breath catches for a second. Then he says, “Not a lot, no.”

Zolf pulls back a fraction, just enough that he can look at Oscar while he speaks. “His name was Feryn,” he starts, “and he was perfect. I mean it, he was… everything our parents wanted. He liked mining, and he was good at it. Sometimes I’d wonder if my parents regretted having me, because Feryn was so clearly a much better son.” Oscar stiffens imperceptibly, then gently starts caressing Zolf’s back in a soothing gesture. Zolf allows himself to melt into the touch for a moment, then continues. “He always looked out for me and he tried to teach me as best as he could, even though I wasn’t even that interested in learning, and I… I loved him. And I looked up to him.” He gives himself a moment to take a deep breath, then pushes forward before he can change his mind. Last time he told this to anyone, he’d been considerably drunk. “I killed him.”

Oscar doesn’t react, years of training to subtlety paying off. “How?” He whispers, his hands still running down Zolf’s back.

“We were in the mines, in a new shaft,” Zolf says, the memory still clear and pristine years later. “And I hated it, so I was mucking about. And I kicked one of the railings, and the whole thing caved in, and Feryn didn’t make it.” He doesn’t give Oscar enough time to speak before adding, “So, anyway. That’s why I left and joined the Navy.”

“Zolf…” Oscar says, softly.

“Don’t-” Zolf cuts him off, “don’t tell me it wasn’t my fault, because I’ve spent my whole life thinking about it and to be honest, I don’t think I’m ever gonna believe that.”

“I wasn’t going to say that,” Oscar says. “I was just going to say that I’m glad you told me.”

“Yeah, well, figured you deserved an explanation, considering everything.”

“Thank you.” Oscar leans forward, and softly kisses Zolf’s forehead. Despite everything, the touch is a healing balm against decades old wounds. Still against his forehead, Oscar whispers, “It doesn’t matter what mistakes you think you have made in the past, Zolf. You are the best man I know.”

The words hit stronger than they should, and Zolf’s breath catches. “Yeah, don’t know about that.” He croaks out.

“I hope one day you will believe me.”

Zolf lets out something between a sob and a laugh, his entire body shaking with it, but Oscar only holds him tighter. They remain like that, in silence, for what seems like hours.

“Zolf,” Oscar says eventually. “Will you come to Ireland with me next?”

His tone is so tentative that Zolf almost smiles. The truth is, Zolf realises now, that he would follow Oscar almost anywhere.

“Of course, you idiot.” He says. “And after that?”

“After that,” Oscar says, almost like he’s figuring it out as he speaks, “I think we get home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, next chapter is the last one before the epilogue, so we're getting really close to the end - and I hope you'll be happy to hear that both next chapter and the epilogue are about twice as long as a regular chapter, just so that our boys can spend more time pining.   
> As usual, if you'd like to come chat, you can find me on twitter as [oscarlovesthsea](https://twitter.com/oscarlovesthsea) . I'm also usually chilling on the RQ discord server.
> 
> Next chapter features a duck.


	8. viii. Dublin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we go, last chapter before the epilogue! Twice as long as usual, because why not. I'd apologise but I'm not that sorry.
> 
> As usual, all my love to Enea, my wonderful beta reader and friend. You can find him at [grassboy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grassboy/pseuds/grassboy) on ao3 and [jimmymagma](https://twitter.com/jimmymagma) on twitter.

_Dear ~~Mister Smith~~ Zolf,_

_How is it going? I am writing this from Australia – I’d only been once before, which is not nearly enough for such a big place! We (that is, Em and I) have not encountered any giant spiders yet, but I remain hopeful._

_Anyway! I’m writing because I thought you should know we did spend a couple of days in Ireland – landed in Dublin, then went round the coast, and it was a wonderful place! Weather could use some improvement (actually, I got an idea for a powder that sprinkled from somewhere high can change the weather – it’s just a prototype, but I’ll get you some if you need it!) but the people are really lovely, so it gets a thumbs up from me. You know, just thought you might want to know, in case you ever go there._

_I have heard from Hamid and Azu, too – I think we might reconvene at some point, maybe travel together a little bit. Em and I want you to know that you’d be invited if you wanted to come, but I have a feeling there’s other things on your mind._

_Either way, hopefully I will see you soon!_

_Cel Sidebottom_

They go visit Harlen again before leaving Svalbard, he wraps Zolf in a rib crushing hug as they part and makes him promise to write about wherever he ends up. He also raises his eyebrows significantly in Oscar’s direction, and Zolf babbles out something about being happy to have come. Harlen’s genuine smile at that is almost enough to cancel out the embarrassment.

Thanks to magical enhancements, it’s a week’s boat journey to Dublin, and in the first few days of the trip the air is so cold that they spend most of their time below deck, talking and playing cards and gently making fun of each other. On the morning of their last day of travel, Zolf wakes to an empty bed next to him. Almost surprised at his own annoyance at the fact, he throws some clothes on and heads out. He finds Oscar on deck, looking out at the mainland now actually visible ahead of him, brow furrowed.

“Well, you haven’t been murdered, that’s good,” Zolf says as greeting.

“I didn’t mean to worry you, sorry,” Oscar shakes his head. “I just… I wanted to come out here.”

It’s with a hint of pride that Zolf realises that, right now, Oscar isn’t actively trying to hide the tension in his shoulders, the way his mouth is set in a hard line.

“You alright?” He asks.

Oscar sighs, “I’m not sure.” He is still looking at the horizon, almost entranced.

“Wanna talk about it, or…?”

“It’s just been a long time since I was here last,” Oscar says. “And I haven’t seen my brother in years, I don’t know how he is going to react.” He’s absentmindedly stroking his scar as he speaks, a habit that Zolf has seen him slowly lose over the course of their journey. Instinctually, Zolf places his hand on Oscar’s free one, which is resting on the railing.

“What’s he like?”

Oscar lets out a strangled sort of sigh. “He’s a lawyer,” he says. “Very, you know, straight and narrow. We never really understood each other.”

Zolf thinks about Feryn, who was ready to follow into their parents’ footsteps without complaints, who never really understood why Zolf hated the still, oppressive air of the mines, but who loved him anyway. Who he misses to this day.

“It was the same with my brother,” he says, slowly. “But, well. I told you about him.”

“Yes,” Oscar nods. “I don’t know if my heart is as good as yours, Zolf.”

“Don’t do that,” Zolf says, his face burning. “I’m not - I’m just saying, if you want, you have a possibility here. To rebuild. You might as well take it.”

The corner of Oscar’s lip quirks up for a second. “Yeah,” he says. “Thanks for coming with me.”

“Hey, we are literally just coming from Svalbard. This is what we do for each other.” Zolf swallows, his ears turning red.

“Zolf, I want you to know,” Oscar says, finally turning to look at him, “That I wouldn’t want to be here with anyone else.”

Zolf inhales sharply. They are once again toeing the line that they’ve been toeing for weeks, the point where their friendship fades into something else, something that neither of them has been able to address. He could pull him down and kiss him now, Zolf thinks. He could, and it would probably be fine, but. Zolf has seen Oscar when he’s interested in someone, the night he broke into Hamid’s apartment and suggestively smiled at Bertie until things happened forever scorched into his memory. None of that has happened with Zolf, so instead he sighs, and turns back to look out at the sea.

*

To their surprise, Dublin seems to have remained almost untouched by the destruction caused by the infection. Zolf knows that Oscar has written to his brother and arranged they stay with him, but it’s still a little surreal when their carriage leaves them out in front of a suburban house and there’s a man waiting for them at the door. He’s shorter and stockier than Oscar, with a dark beard on a somewhat sour face. He greets Oscar with a handshake at the door, clearly as taken aback as Oscar is at seeing his brother again.

Nevertheless, when he says, “It’s good to see you”, the warmth in his voice is genuine.

“And this is…” he adds, turning to Zolf, “-your friend?”

Oscar nods. “Zolf Smith,” he says, “my brilliant colleague and friend. Zolf, this is my brother, Willie.”

“Hey,” Zolf says, shaking his hand, feeling his face flush unexpectedly. He suddenly realises that he kind of wants Oscar’s family to like him, which is at least a little bit ridiculous.

“Pleasure,” Willie, at the very least, seems unphased by Zolf’s height. “Come in, Dottie is dying to see you.” He says, ushering them inside.

“Oh, gods, it’s been a few years,” Oscar says nonchalantly, but Zolf knows him enough to see the way his eyes light up at the comment.

“How long are you staying, by the way?” Willie asks as he takes their coats and leads them down a long corridor. “Your letter was… quite vague.”

Oscar opens his mouth, then closes it. “A few days, probably,” he says after a moment. “We have not actually made any specific plans, yet.”

Anything else he might say next is cut off by a teenage girl wrapping him in a hug as soon as they make their way into a living room.

“Uncle Oscar!” She says, throwing her arms around him. Zolf sees the way Oscar stiffens for a moment in surprise, then carefully hugs her back.

“Hi, Dorothy.”

“Dottie’s been waiting impatiently since we got your letter,” Willie says apologetically. “You made quite an impression last time.”

“Well, I am a remarkable man,” Oscar says, as the girl pulls back.

“I got reasonably excited,” she says. She’s wearing trousers and a waistcoat, bright green. It’s so unbelievably Oscar that Zolf can’t help but smile.

“You’ve grown,” Oscar says, his eyes wide in badly concealed astonishment.

“In five years? Yes. And you have made some friends.” She turns to Zolf, quizzically raising an eyebrow. Everything about her, from the colourful clothes to the way she moves and the waves of dark hair that fall around her face, resembles Oscar more than her own father.

“Yes,” Oscar nods, gently placing a hand on Zolf's shoulder. “Zolf, this is my niece Dorothy. Dorothy, this is Zolf, he’s a good friend. We have been working together for the past few years.”

She shakes Zolf’s hand, a big grin on her face and a suggestively raised eyebrow.

“You have a lot to explain, Oscar,” Willie adds. “We have barely heard from you in years.”

Oscar’s hand, still on Zolf’s shoulder, tightens its grip. “Yes,” he says. “It’s… a long story. Much of it I was not allowed to say at the time.”

“Tea, then,” the girl – Dorothy, says. “And you can catch us all up.”

*

It takes hours for them to summarise to Oscar’s family everything that’s happened to them in the last few years – they start with his Meritocratic work, which they didn’t know about, and end in a brief summary of their involvement with stopping the infection. Willie’s wife, Lisa, joins them after the first hour and she’s quiet but attentive as Oscar speaks. He doesn’t tell them the story behind his scar, and they don’t ask. Zolf remains silent, but holds Oscar’s gaze in the moments he loses himself in the memory, very much like what Oscar did when he spoke to Harlen.

They are eventually offered some dinner and the tone shifts to something more jovial, as Willie and Dorothy relay what they have been up to in the few years that have gone past. They explain that they have survived the infection almost unscathed by hiding in the countryside, staying as far from people as possible.

“It was terribly boring,” Dorothy says, “But I did get to do a lot of reading.”

“She’s aiming for Trinity in a couple of years,” Lisa says, smiling cordially.

Oscar raises an eyebrow. “Your department, Lisa?”

“Gods, no,” Dorothy shudders. “No, I am going to study magic.”

Oscar smiles. “That’s a very good ambition to have. I mean no disrespect, Lisa.”

Lisa smiles, then turns to Zolf. “I teach mathematics at Trinity College,” she says. “But my daughter just  _ must  _ pursue the arcane sciences.”

“I refuse to have anything to do with numbers,” Dorothy says. “But spells are easy. It’s like learning poetry.”

Oscar’s smile brightens at that. In the dim light, he looks radiant.

“Yes, I know,” Willie says, “she sounds just like you at her age. Don’t remind me.”

“I am a brilliant role model,” Oscar says, waving him away.

“I’ve seen you go entire weeks without any sleep,” Zolf argues, raising an eyebrow at him. “I don’t know about that.”

“But I’m getting so much better at that!” Oscar says, fake outrage in his voice.

“And that’s thanks to who?” Zolf asks, before he can think any better of it.

Dorothy bursts into a cough, and it takes Zolf a moment to realise that she is masking a fit of laughter. Lisa and Willie share a look, before Lisa turns back to Zolf.

“So, Mister Smith,” she says, “where did you study?”

Despite himself, Zolf’s face burns at the question. He’s not ashamed of his roots, never has been, but being around so many intellectuals feels frustrating, at times like these.

“Never really had a formal education,” he says, as nonchalantly as he can. “I joined the Navy when I was young, and after that I got some at the temple of Poseidon, but it was all about, religion and proper worship.”

“You said you are a Cleric?” Dorothy cuts in, eyes eager.

“Yes.”

“Of which god?”

Zolf looks down at his plate, swallowing. “I’m not sure,” he croaks out. “Used to be Poseidon, but not anymore, and we don’t really know, now. Probably not of a god at all.”

“Fascinating,” Dorothy says. “I didn’t know that could happen.”

“Yeah, neither did I?” He fiddles with his fork. When he looks up, Dorothy’s gaze on him is as sharp and attentive as Oscar’s, and he feels almost uncomfortably naked under it.

“If you’d like,” Oscar interrupts, perhaps sensing his discomfort, “we could visit Trinity tomorrow. It has a fascinating history.”

“Just be careful not to run into Oscar’s old mentors,” Willie says, no real edge to his voice. “I don’t think they’d be particularly excited to see him.”

“I was a  _ delight, _ ” Oscar says.

“Somehow I doubt that,” Zolf argues, holding back a laugh.

“Zolf, you wound me,” Oscar says, dramatically bringing a hand to his chest.

Willie snorts. “Well, at least you’re still as dramatic as you were as a student.” There is genuine fondness in his voice.

With that, the conversation moves on, and Zolf catches Oscar smiling at him from across the table, an unreadable look on his face. Soon, he knows, they will actually have to talk, but for now, Zolf simply smiles back.

*

They are eventually shown into a guest room for the night. It’s been equipped with a king-sized bed and a smaller cot to the side, but Zolf doesn’t need to ask to know that they are going to share the main bed.

“Are you alright?” Oscar asks as they are getting changed into something more comfortable. “That was an awful lot of talking with a lot of people you don’t know.”

“Since when do you fuss so much?” Zolf says, stretching his legs before he gets into bed.

“I am trying to be considerate.” Oscar’s tone is even, but there is just a hint of genuine nervousness in it that makes Zolf’s heart contract.

“I’m good,” he says. Surprisingly, he is. He’s definitely spent, but his skin isn’t itching like it does when being around other people becomes too much. He does want to sleep for ten hours straight, but there is one last thing he needs to do before then. “Are  _ you _ alright?”

Oscar sits on the bed, not looking at him. “I’m fine,” he says. When Zolf raises an eyebrow at him, he sighs. “I know that’s my standard answer to everything, but I think I do mean it.”

“You and Willie seemed to get along well.”

“Yeah,” Oscar exhales. He starts running his hands through his hair, gently combing it down. “Maybe it’s what you said, I love him, regardless of our differences. And those differences don’t seem so big, after everything that we have seen.”

Zolf lets himself drop onto the other side of the bed. He thinks about Feryn, about how he lost him before he could realise how much he cared. He’s vaguely aware that Oscar is still talking, desperately looks for an answer, but when he searches for words his mind goes blank, drowning him instead in old memories. Oscar’s hand touches him lightly on the shoulder. When he turns, Oscar is looking at him carefully, eyes narrowed, and Zolf curls up into him, breathing in deeply and letting the memories wash away.

When his mind is clearer, after a few moments, he adds, “I’m still going to ask Willie for all the embarrassing stories about you as a child.”

Oscar snorts. “Good luck finding any.”

“Oh, I am determined.”

“Hm? Is that so?”

When he turns, Oscar is smirking, a glint of mischief in his eyes. His face is very, very close to Zolf’s.

Zolf clears his throat. “We should go to sleep.”

Oscar looks away. “Yes,” he says, after a moment. “Big day tomorrow, and all that.”

*

The following day they set off early for the centre of Dublin. They take a walk on the bank of the Liffey, then Oscar takes him to visit the castle and Trinity College, telling him stories about the city and its history and his life growing up there. Zolf doesn’t know if he is weaving any magic into the words, but a sense of peace overtakes him as he looks at Oscar light up with the joy of being back home.

“So you studied here,” Zolf asks as they walk along the cloister of Trinity.

“Before heading to London, yes,” Oscar nods. “Learned poetry and literature and, by extent, magic.”

“Did you like it?”

“A lot,” Oscar smiles. “Truth be told, I’d love to come back here every once in a while. Might even do, if I can get this poetry into a book.”

Zolf has seen him write more since they left Crete. He hasn’t dared ask, but he seemed more relaxed about it with every passing day.

“How is the poetry going?”

Oscar’s smile softens. “Well, I think.”

“Like…  _ well _ , well?”

“Yes.” His gaze latches onto Zolf’s for a moment, an unreadable expression on his face. Then he grabs Zolf’s hand, pulling him with him. “Come on,” he says, “you really need to see the library.”

*

An hour later, they sit onto the grass at Saint Stephen’s Green park, throwing breadcrumbs at the ducks in the artificial lake. The weather is unusually nice for Ireland, and the afternoon light filters through the leaves rustling in the breeze. It’s a perfect moment of stillness. So, of course, Zolf has to go and overthink it.

“Why me?” He asks.

Oscar looks at him, brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Why do all of this with me? Coming here, seeing your family – why me?” Zolf’s wondered before, because of course Oscar could have brought with him literally anyone else, and yet, he’s the one that Oscar chose to travel with, to follow him to his own home, to hold each other at night and comfort each other in the darker times. Zolf can’t figure it out.

Oscar goes very still. He doesn’t look at Zolf when he says, “I thought that was rather obvious.”

Frustration seeps through Zolf. “It really isn’t.”

A duck approaches Oscar, catching his attention. He smiles faintly, then throws some breadcrumbs at it, gaze lost. Eventually, he says, “You must know that I am in love with you.”

Zolf hears the words. He does. He also knows, theoretically, what those words mean. But the meaning seems intent on not wanting to register.

“You what?” He pushes out eventually.  _ Brilliant _ , Zolf. Good one.

“I honestly thought you knew,” Oscar says. “I’m not that subtle.”

Whatever retort Zolf thought he might have, he chokes on the words. His ears might be ringing a little bit as some feeling, he’s not sure what it is, but it’s definitely there and definitely loud, starts spreading in his chest.

It’s something small that eventually pulls him out of his trance. It’s just the way Oscar’s head tilts slightly to the side as he talks, hair falling briefly in front of his eyes before he can tuck it away with long, delicate fingers. Zolf has no idea what he’s saying, but he suddenly recognises the feeling in his chest. It’s relief. Hope. Unbridled, almost aggressively relentless, utmost joy.

“I am sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” Oscar is saying once Zolf’s back to himself enough to understand him. “I did not mean-”

“No, gods, just, shut up.” Zolf snaps, raising a hand. There are probably a lot of things he can and  _ should  _ say, but he’s never been much good at words. So he just asks, “Can I kiss you?”

Oscar finally turns to look at him, his mouth slightly open in surprise, eyes careful, guarded. Slowly, he nods, and Zolf leans forward and kisses him on the mouth.

It’s been a while since Zolf kissed someone, that’s no secret. And it’s not like he hasn’t wondered what kissing Oscar would feel like, what it would be to run his hands through his hair as he brings him ever so close. But no kiss, neither past nor imagined one, has felt like this, caring, peaceful, and full of kindness. He did not expect Oscar’s lips to be soft and almost timid against his, nor the way his hand comes to gently caress Zolf’s elbow as the rest of him goes still. As first kisses go, it’s – well, Zolf knows better than to talk about perfection, but it’s as close as it gets.

He feels Oscar smile against his lips as they part, foreheads still touching.

“Well,” Oscar says.

“What?” Zolf asks, barely holding back a laugh.

“Nothing. That was very nice, is all.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

This time, Zolf bursts into laughter, and Oscar follows him into a fit of giggles. They’re acting like goddamn teenagers, Zolf knows that, but hey, they’ve waited a long time for this. Oscar kisses him again, slowly and carefully. They still have so much more to learn about each other, but that feels like part of the adventure, now. And, well. He supposes kissing is as good a way as any to get to know each other.

“You could have said something,” Zolf says when they eventually part.

“I asked you to come travel the world with me!”

“You could have done that as a friend!”

“Oh, gods.” Oscar hides his face in his hands. “I genuinely thought I was being really obvious. Or, as obvious as I could without falling into old habits.”

Zolf laughs again. This is all so, so ridiculous. “I honestly didn’t know,” he says. “I hoped, but I’d seen you with-” he stammers, not wanting to bring Bertie into this, “-people you wanted. I thought it was different with me.”

“Oh, Zolf,” Oscar’s face opens with his smile. “You are so,  _ so  _ different. I don’t think I have ever been in love before. Or maybe I have, countless times. It has never, ever felt like this.” He fixes Zolf with his gaze. “I was utterly unprepared for you.”

Zolf’s breath catches, the weight of the confession taking his breath away. He wishes, so desperately, that he knew how to put into words how much Oscar has meant to him all this time, the nights of whiskey and chit chat and holding each other in a world that was broken, their slow quest to recover all the pieces now that the universe is fixing itself, but this is too big for words. He’s never been a poet. Then again, Oscar doesn’t seem to mind.

“For what it’s worth,” he says eventually. “I was also not prepared for falling for the terribly cocky man who broke into Hamid’s apartment all that time ago.”

Oscar laughs, and with a smile, Zolf kisses him again.

*

It’s Dorothy who suggests a day out to Dún Laoghaire, and Zolf can’t help but agree at the sight of Oscar’s nostalgic expression when she mentions it. It’s a pleasantly Irish day, the sky grey and the lightest of rains falling gently. Zolf and Oscar sit huddled together on the beach as Dorothy gets carried away drawing figures in the sand. They look out at her, and the sea, with a smile. Oscar hums gently to himself, and the rain starts turning into iridescent colours around them.

“What are you singing?” Zolf asks.

Oscar stops abruptly, almost surprised. “You’re not allowed to make fun of it,” he says. “It’s a bit on the nose.”

“I make no promises,” Zolf says, but squeezes his hand.

“There is this old Gaelic song,” Oscar explains, slowly. “It’s like a children’s tune.  _ Trasna na dTonnta.  _ It means  _ across the waves,  _ it’s the story of a man who’s travelled and seen the world and is happy to be returning to Ireland.” He chuckles softly. “I just thought it was fitting.”

Zolf smiles, then leans forward and kisses him on the cheek.

“I like it,” he says. And then, hoping Oscar will know what he means by it, he adds, “I like it here.”

Oscar’s gaze turns back to him. All of a sudden, he looks nervous. Zolf can see his chest rise and fall. “I was thinking,” he says after a moment, “we could find a place like this. Not  _ here _ , here, somewhere less crowded. Maybe out west, on the ocean. I could write and you could cook and be at sea. Just us, and, well, our friends, sometimes.” The words come out almost in a rush.

“You’ve thought about this a lot,” Zolf points out. It’s clear in the way he speaks of it.

“Maybe.”

The truth is, Zolf doesn’t even need to think about it. This entire journey, these months spent retracing his footsteps and understanding himself and Oscar, all of it, has been building up to this. It’s an easy answer.

“Okay,” he says, simply.

Oscar stiffens next to him. He turns, holds both of Zolf’s hands in his. “Are you sure?”

The concern in his tone is so genuine that there really couldn’t be any other answer.

“Of course,” Zolf says.

Oscar smiles. He looks down, almost flustered. “A place where we can find some peace.” He says, turning back to look again at the ocean, letting go of one of Zolf’s hands.

Zolf lays his head on Oscar’s shoulder, and follows his gaze into the horizon.

“Home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told you the duck was plot relevant!   
> In case you are interested, Trasna na dTonnta is an actual Irish song and what the fic is named after. You can find a lovely version of it [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bCHyKWvxAY0) . Also, Ireland in this fic is almost entirely based off the three weeks I spent there when I was maybe twelve - my memories might be a bit fuddled, but to this day that's been one of my favourite holiday and I hope that came through a little bit.
> 
> If you'd like to come chat, you can find me on twitter as [oscarlovesthsea](https://twitter.com/oscarlovesthsea) . I'm also usually chilling on the RQ discord server.
> 
> Next chapter features a gathering that is definitely not a party.


	9. ix. Epilogue: Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here we go. Final chapter.  
> Apologies for the delay - it's been a busy few days, and on top that I had A BIT of an emotional reaction at the thought of finishing this fic. But it's here now!  
> For the last time, a giant thanks to Enea, my beta reader and friend, who was there every step of the way as I worked on this story. I love you. You can find him at [grassboy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grassboy/pseuds/grassboy) on ao3 and [jimmymagma](https://twitter.com/jimmymagma) on twitter.

_ Dear Zolf, _

_ It’s good to hear from you. To be completely honest, I wasn’t entirely convinced you’d write, but I’m happy to be surprised.  _

_ I am happy to hear you and your partner are enjoying Ireland, and thank you for the invitation, though I’m afraid we are going to have to miss it - our daughter is coming to visit, and we see her so rarely. We are very much looking forward to coming to visit you in your new home, when the time is right - I feel like there is so much more we have yet to talk about.  _

_ I wish my brother could see you now, Zolf. I’m sure he would be proud.  _

_ Hoping to see you soon, _

_ Harlen Smith  _

They are not having a party. It’s not a party. They’ve both very pointedly agreed that it’s not a party, just a small gathering of friends to celebrate six months from the day they saved the world. It’s not a party, but you can’t have a gathering without food, so Zolf’s been cooking almost non stop for the past two days, to the point that in a strange role reversal, Oscar’s had to drag him to bed so he could get some sleep. It’s a small buffet, nothing complicated, but cooking has kept him from spending hours on end worrying about how his friends will react when they see the house and the life he and Oscar have built.

Zolf likes the house. It’s on the west coast of Ireland, close to the ocean, smaller than he thought Oscar would have settled for. It has a study filled with books and a kitchen that Oscar is banned from. It’s cosy and warm thanks to some magical help. And of course, there is Oscar, writing in his study and reading in the living room and sneaking into the kitchen to press a kiss into Zolf’s forehead even when he knows he’s not allowed there after one too many culinary disasters. Sleeping next to Zolf at night, his breath even and calming over the sound of the wind and the far away waves.

Yeah, Zolf likes their new home.

There’s a soft knock on the door, and Oscar pops his head into the kitchen, an apologetic look on his face.

“May I come in?”

Zolf looks from the bowl he’s been carefully mixing, giving him a long look. “Promise you won’t touch anything?”

“Oh, I know better than to try and help, after the last incident,” Oscar shrugs. “Though I think you’re being a bit dramatic about the size of the fire.”

“I’m gonna throw this spoon at you.”

Oscar laughs, and comes into the kitchen raising his hands in surrender. “I got a message from Hamid,” he says, after kissing Zolf’s cheek, “He and Azu will be here in a few hours with Cel and Earhart.”

“Who else is coming?”

“Curie, which means Eldarion too,” Oscar counts on his fingers, “Carter, Barnes, Einstein, and I believe Edward Keystone too, and Dorothy said she might come. I think that’s everyone.”

“Alright,” Zolf gets back to whisking his bowl.

“How are you feeling about it?” Oscar asks, raising a worried eyebrow at him.

“Fine.”

Oscar sighs. “I talk, you talk?” He asks, gently placing his hand on Zolf’s, the one that’s gripping the spoon.

Zolf tenses, considering for a moment. Then he puts the spoon down. “Okay.”

“I am happy to see them,” Oscar says, slowly, “and I know we have agreed it’s not a party. But, well, I used to host so many parties that I feel a bit strange about it all anyway. I know it’s silly.”

“Hey, rules,” Zolf says, poking him in the ribs. “No dismissing.”

It’s a system that they’ve developed after one too many  _ I’m fine _ ’s. When something is up, they both make an active effort to open up, with a couple of set rules on how to behave. It’s been working out alright for them, so far.

“Fair enough,” Oscar says. “Your turn.”

“I’m worried about what they will think of it,” Zolf lets out, all in one breath. “The house, and – and, like, whatever we’re building.”

Oscar purses his lips, then gently leans over, wrapping Zolf into a hug. “I’m guessing you haven’t told them about us, yet.”

“Gods, no,” Zolf says. “Have you?”

“No, of course not,” Oscar says into Zolf’s hair. “And we don’t have to tell them at all, if you don’t want to.”

“You really think they won’t realise?” Zolf groans, gesturing with his chin at the embrace they’re still in.

“Good point,” Oscar sighs. “We could…”

“We ain’t toning things down because other people are here,” Zolf interrupts him. “Don’t even suggest it.”

He can hear Oscar’s smile in the way he lets out a quiet breath, relaxing against him. “Good,” he says. “So we just…”

“Let them figure it out? Yeah, I guess.”

“They might have already,” Oscar adds, “Azu definitely keeps hinting at it in her letters.”

“Don’t remind me.”

Oscar lets go of the hug, taking a step back to stare at Zolf carefully.

“Are you feeling better?”

“Kind of?” Zolf runs his hand through his hair, nervously, before picking up the spoon again. “I’m probably gonna be nervous about it until they come here.” After a moment, he adds, “It’s not that I usually care? But, they’re my friends. Our friends.”

“I hope they will be happy for us,” Oscar says. “I am…” he pauses for a moment, and Zolf sees the way he pushes against years of suppressing his feelings to get the words out. “I am very happy with you, and I hope you are too.”

“’course I am,” Zolf says, “Don’t get too cocky about it.”

Oscar laughs, then leans down to kiss him, gently, on the lips. “You know me,” he says, “I  _ will  _ get cocky about it.”

“You’re lucky I love you,” Zolf gestures at him with the spoon. “Now get out of my kitchen.”

“I love you too!” Oscar laughs, turning to leave.

*

The house is just a short walk from a small village. From the start, the villagers have been friendly and welcoming to Oscar and Zolf, and if they are confused as to why a human with a scar on his face and a dwarf with prosthetic legs live together in a cottage on the sea, they’ve been courteous enough not to show it. But Zolf thinks that even they might have something to say about an airship flying over the village and landing just outside their backyard.

“Could you have done that a bit more quietly?” Zolf asks as he sees his friends descend from the ship. “We have a good relationship with our neighbours.”

“That doesn’t sound much like you,” Hamid says smoothly. He’s wearing his usual colours, but the suit is new, and he’s growing a moustache. He looks older.

“Wow, I missed you too,” Zolf says, before letting Hamid wrap him into a hug, that is quickly joined by Cel and Azu. Earhart stands a bit to the side, giving him a curt nod.

“Where’s Oscar?” Hamid asks once they let go.

“Up front,” Zolf gestures for them to follow him, “he’s been doing something to the yard, didn’t dare to ask.”

“So when did you move here?” Azu asks. She’s deliberately taking very small steps, to avoid leaving them behind.

“Couple ‘months ago?” Zolf guesses. “We did some traveling, then stayed with Oscar’s brother for a while, then took a bit to get the house into shape. But, yeah, about a couple of months.”

“Do you like it?”

“I mean, yeah, wouldn’t have agreed to move in otherwise.”

Azu nods sagely, giving him a long look, but doesn’t say anything. Zolf opens his mouth to argue, then realises he doesn’t have much to say. Cel lightly pats his shoulder, and gives him a wink when he looks up at them. Zolf sighs, and leads them to Oscar.

*

They’ve set up a few tables in the front yard, overlooking the sea, and floating lights are scattered all around, casting soft shades onto their friend’s faces. Zolf has to admit, it might not be a party, but it’s quite pretty.

He spends some time catching up with Carter and Barnes, who are still working in Cairo. Apparently their services have been  _ so appreciated  _ that they will be joining up with local teams to explore different pyramid complexes (“and not robbing anything”, Carter adds. His face is dark enough when he says it that Zolf has a feeling he has, for once, learned that his actions have consequences). They both raise an eyebrow at him when he says that he is probably not going to do much but stay here with Oscar, but Barnes drags Carter away before he can ask any awkward questions, which is probably for the best. Zolf backs away and navigates the small crowd, waving at Dorothy who is lost in a seemingly heated conversation with Curie, Eldarion, and Einstein. Her eyes are lit up the same way that Oscar’s do when he has a lead to chase, and Zolf can’t help but smile.

He eventually finds Azu on her own, standing next to one of the buffet tables, staring out at the sea. Despite the informal occasion, she’s still wearing her full armour, glowing gently pink in the evening light.

“You alright?” Zolf asks, handing her a cup of wine.

“Yes,” she says simply, taking the cup. “Just thinking.”

“’bout what?”

“The future,” Azu waves gently with her cup. “You know, little things.”

“What are your plans?” Zolf asks, because he remembers her letters. “Can’t see you back to temple life, even if the Aphrodite lot are less unpleasant than Poseidon’s.”

“No,” she agrees with a nod, “but working together made me realise I don’t need to climb up the ranks to do Aphrodite proud, so I might just… travel. Find people who need help.” As she talks, she is fidgeting with her small, heart shaped necklace.

“You are so certain,” Zolf says, smiling helplessly. “I don’t even know how you do that.”

“I mean,” Azu looks down, almost flushed. “Look at you, you know most of all that – hope, and faith, and magic, don’t come from the rules of a temple of a priest. I think…” she narrows her eyes, thinking, “I think it’s what we did here. Helping people, loving, hoping – isn’t that as close to our gods as we can be?”

“Poseidon would probably disagree,” Zolf argues, thinking about the unforgiving code that the Poseidon priests adhered by, “he wanted me to drown people.”

“Good thing he wasn’t really you, then.” Azu smiles at him, and maybe she’s right. After a moment, she adds, “So you’re sure? About staying here?"

“I think so,” Zolf nods. “It’s – it’s kind of what you were saying earlier? Hope and – and love, and whatever allows me to do magic, it’s – it all converges here. It’s a good place for me to be.”

“And you’re not alone.”

“Yeah,” Zolf exhales, and turns towards the crowd. Oscar is talking to Hamid, his expression neutral, but his gaze crosses Zolf’s for a second, and he smiles almost imperceptibly. “I’m not alone.”

Hamid turns, and when his gaze crosses with Zolf’s, he gestures something to Oscar and then walks away, coming towards him and Azu. Oscar raises his eyebrows at Zolf, vaguely waving his hand in the air.

“Hey, guys!” Hamid says with a wave. His smile is overly polite, which immediately worries Zolf.

“What?” He asks gruffly.

“Ah, you know, I was just talking to Oscar.”

Zolf doesn’t reply, but Azu shoots Hamid a fiery look. He smiles wider, unimpressed.

“You two seem to have sorted things out,” he adds, after a moment.

Zolf can feel his ears go red, but he takes a sip of his wine and exhales a strangled “Yeah.”

Hamid’s smile softens as he holds Zolf’s gaze. “Are you happy?”

Zolf thinks about Oscar, the way he held his hand in the kitchen this morning, the gentle floating lights he summoned, his small smile when their gazes crossed tonight. “Yeah,” he says, “I am.”

Hamid’s smile grows brighter. “Good.”

*

It’s not a party, so they have not hired a band, but Hamid convinces Edward Keystone to play some music for them all and drags them all to dance. Zolf doesn’t actually know Keystone, but he seems harmless enough, and there is definitely something divine in the way he plays, so that’s what Zolf blames when he doesn’t put up much of a fight to Hamid dragging him to dance. He loses himself in the music and his friends around him until he turns and sees Oscar standing at the edge of the crowd, looking at them with a half-smile, careful and guarded. Zolf’s heart contracts, and he heads over to him.

“Want to dance?” He asks, offering his hand.

Oscar cocks his head to the side, a confused expression fluttering on his face. “What?”

“Why not?” Zolf can see Oscar’s surprise at the offer, which is fair as, a few months ago, he probably wouldn’t have asked. But a few months ago he hadn’t decided he wanted to spend his life with this man.

Oscar smiles, and takes Zolf’s hand.

The last time they danced, all the way back in Cairo, it had been difficult to find a rhythm, their height difference and Zolf’s legs hindering their attempts, but this time, after months spent together and learning about each other, they easily slip into a simple pace and, in the blue moonlight surrounded by their friends, they dance.

*

Zolf can’t sleep. This is not a new thing – he’s dealt with it all, from Oscar’s insomnia and nightmares as well as his own to stormy nights at sea, but tonight it’s different. He’s not restless, tossing and turning and praying for sleep to come, he’s just waiting. Thinking about his friends camping in the living room, watching the slow rise and fall of Oscar’s shoulders as he lies with his back to him He’s fairly sure that Oscar is awake, too, his breath even but his body too still with the stiffness of feigned sleep. Oscar does that a lot.

Zolf’s suspicions are confirmed when Oscar turns to face him, sighing, “You are awake.”

“So are you.”

“Yes.” Oscar says softly, smiling at him in the soft moonlight. “Everything alright?”

“Think so,” Zolf mutters. “Just thinking about the others.”

“What about them?”

“I don’t know,” Zolf says. His hand is lying next to him, and Oscar takes it with a reassuring smile. “Kinda weird that we’re here and they’re just in the living room. We used to all camp out together.”

Oscar huffs. “They are leaving tomorrow morning,” he says, “I don’t mind if you’d rather spend tonight with them. You definitely have things to talk about.”

“Dunno if they’d forgive me for leaving your bed,” Zolf argues. “They know about us”

“I don’t know why we expected any different,” Oscar shrugs. “We weren’t exactly subtle.”

“Yeah, I know, they knew before we did, whatever.”

Oscar laughs. “Speak for yourself, I knew how I felt about you maybe three months into Japan.”

“Really? And you couldn’t tell me?”

“Well, of course not, after that I spent months repressing it,” Oscar says, “and then another few months thinking you didn’t feel the same. I only realised you might shortly before the others arrived, and then there wasn’t much time.”

“And you didn’t say anything then?”

“You weren’t exactly  _ pleased  _ every time Cel brought it up,” Oscar says, “I thought it would be better to wait. Which it was, in the end.”

“Yeah, alright, no need to remind me of how oblivious I am again,” Zolf groans, and Oscar smiles.

He leans forward so that his nose is almost touching Zolf’s and says, “You know I’m not making fun of you, yeah?”

Zolf huffs. “Yeah, I know, it’s fine.” He closes the distance between them and kisses Oscar, whose breath catches for a second before he kisses back. To this day, there are moments when Oscar still seems genuinely surprised that Zolf is here with him, holding him and kissing him, which in theory Zolf understands, he feels the same so often. But it’s so unexpected, so different from the Oscar that Zolf first met that his heart skips a beat every time, and he kisses him harder, until they are both breathless.

“I love you,” Oscar exhales when they part.

Zolf presses his forehead against his. “I love you too.”

“The offer still stands, you know,” Oscar says after a moment. “If you want to go spend the night with your friends, that’s fine.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Zolf says, pulling back, “they’re not just  _ my _ friends, you’re coming with.”

Oscar goes very still. “You are sure?” He asks after a moment,

“Yeah, you big idiot,” Zolf snorts, “honestly, calling  _ me  _ oblivious. Come on.”

*

The others are also very much awake when they check on them, so they decide to take the opportunity and take a walk by the seaside in the moonlight. They end up sitting on the beach to look at the stars, and a bottle of whiskey is passed around. For a long time, they are quiet listening to the waves crash gently onto the sand. This is hope, Zolf thinks. The sound of his loved ones’ footsteps onto the sand and the suffused light, the sea by his side and Oscar’s hand in his. This is hope, and peace, and what he’d spent years fighting for. This is what comes next.

Oscar shivers next to him, and Zolf groans. “I told you to get a warmer coat, honestly.” He says, exasperated taking off his own coat and passing it to Oscar, who smiles and whispers some incomprehensible words, the coat growing to fit his size. It’s one of their regular routines, and Zolf sort of gets a feeling that sometimes Oscar purposefully forgets his own coat just so that he can wear Zolf’s. He definitely does not mind.

“You two, I swear,” Hamid laughs at the scene, “I don’t know how it took you so long to sort things out.”

“Shut up,” Zolf says, but his attempt at sounding aggressive is probably defeated by the fact that he grabs Oscar’s hand again, intertwining their fingers.

“ _ I  _ had called it from the start,” Cel says, smug. They’ve been strangely quiet tonight, and Zolf wonders if it has anything to do with the fact that Earhart stayed the night on the ship instead of camping out with the others.

Oscar laughs. “We were talking about how you knew before we did just earlier,” he says, “though I do partly blame Zolf for taking so long.”

“Hey,” Zolf pokes him in the ribs, “you really weren’t as obvious as you think you were. Speaking in riddles is, like, your whole schtick.”

“Excuse you, it’s not my  _ whole  _ schtick,” Oscar argues. “I have plenty of shticks. I am very talented.”

“Oh, are you, now?” Zolf asks, leaning into him, so close that their noses almost touch.

“Everyone needs their own time,” Azu interrupts them, exchanging a glance with Hamid and Cel. “That said, you two really took frustratingly long.”

Zolf pulls back, feeling his face go red, but when he looks at the others, they’re all smiling genuinely.

“You know who would have been super smug about this?” Hamid says after a moment. “Sasha. She called it from that one time in Paris.”

He hadn’t thought about it in a long time, but now Zolf remembers the time he’d repeatedly tried, with little success, to pour a bucket of water over Oscar’s head, only to defend  _ Bertie _ of all people. The thought still makes him smile.

“I’d forgotten about that,” he says.

“What’s this about?” Oscar asks, turning to him.

“Remember in Paris, when I repeatedly poured water over you?”

“Repeatedly  _ tried _ ,” Oscar corrects him with a mischievous smile. “I remember it well.”

“Yeah, well, after that she asked me if I was into you. Which I wasn’t, at the time, by the way. You were an ass back then.”

“True,” Oscar agrees with a shrug, “but, hey, maybe your reaction at the time was so strong because there were other feelings you were repressing.” He raises his eyebrows suggestively.

“Gods, you’re  _ still  _ such an ass sometimes.”

“True, but you like it.”

“Don’t get a big head about it,” Zolf laughs, and leans forward, giving him a quick kiss on the lips. He pulls back as soon as he remembers the others’ presence, his ears going red again.

“Please, don’t stop on our account!” Cel laughs. The others are giggling too.

“You must forgive us,” Oscar says, wrapping his arms around Zolf. “We are making up for lost time.”

“You have a  _ lot  _ to make up for,” Hamid says with a giggle. “Maybe you should’ve listened to Cel. Or Sasha.”

In the past few months, the shard of pain that Zolf used to feel whenever Sasha was mentioned has dulled to a softer, almost familiar ache.

“Well, it was Sasha,” he says with what it’s almost a smile. “She was just brilliant, wasn’t she?”

“Better than the rest of us,” Oscar says softly. His arms are still around Zolf.

“I’m not sure about that,” Zolf says, turning his head to give a quick kiss to his shoulder. He remembers Sasha jumping headfirst into danger, her genuine surprise at realising people cared about her. Her excitement and awkwardness. “She was just trying her best.”

“And she was still better than the rest of us.” Hamid says. His voice is very small.

“Yes, that’s true,” Zolf thinks. It takes him a moment to realise he’s said it out loud.

Oscar rests his chin on Zolf’s shoulder as his arms tighten around him, and Zolf can feel the way his breath has gotten more controlled, the way he does when he’s trying to keep his emotions in check. Zolf leans over and kisses his forehead, and Oscar’s breath catches for a moment before evening out slightly.

“I miss them.” Azu says after what seems like an eternity.

“Me too,” Hamid’s voice is shrill, on the verge of breaking. “I know that the world is safe and that’s supposed to be the end, but I still miss Sasha and Grizzop. They should be here to see it.”

All of a sudden, the pain in Zolf’s chest sharpens, to the point that he struggles to breathe. Oscar’s hand traces soothing circles on his forearm.

“One of the last things I said to Sasha was that I wasn’t gonna let her die as long as I was with her,” he lets out, his voice cracked. “Which, well, is really ironic now.”

“Oh, Zolf.” Hamid says, but he stops there. Zolf knows, there isn’t really anything that can be said to that. Oscar’s hand continues caressing his forearm, a calming anchor in the storm.

“There were things I should have said to her earlier,” Oscar says after a moment. “What she learned from Apophis, she should have heard from me.” He pauses for a moment, his breath catching in the way Zolf knows it does when he’s trying to decide if he should continue speaking. “Grizzop, too. I wish we could have been better friends.”

“I wish I hadn’t let go of his hand,” Azu’s tone is steady when she speaks, but in a practiced way, like she’s learned to stop her voice from cracking. Knowing Azu, it’s exactly what she has done.

Hamid reaches for her, taking her hand. “It wasn’t your fault, Azu.”

“No, I know,” she says softly, “but it still hurts.”

“If we’re going to put it that way,” Oscar exhales, “I should never have let him go to Rome in the first place. I could have saved at least him.”

“Like you could’ve stopped him,” Azu huffs. “I don’t think anyone could have told Grizzop what to do.”

Hamid sniffs. “I miss him.”

Zolf thinks about the goblin he never met, who apparently made his way into the heart of his friends through sheer force of will and a fierce attitude. It hurts, sometimes, to think about him, the one who held them together when Zolf was falling apart, but maybe, he’s starting to believe, it had to be this way.

“I never met Grizzop,” he says after a moment. “But, you know. I’m glad – it’s good that- that you had him.”

“Probably for the best that you didn’t meet him,” Hamid exhales with a half-strangled laugh. “I can’t imagine you two getting along.”

“Ah, I don’t know,” Oscar argues, his chest thrumming with amusement, “they’re both short and feisty. It might have been a terrifying duo.”

“Don’t ever,” Zolf turns to him, attempting a stern expression, “describe me like that again.”

The corner of Oscar’s mouth lifts. “I’m not wrong,” he says, before leaning forward to kiss Zolf on the forehead.

Hamid laughs then, wild and high pitched. When Zolf turns to look at him he covers his mouth with his hand, stifling another laugh. “Sorry,” he says, “I was just imagining Grizzop’s reaction to this.” He gestures towards Zolf and Oscar.

“Oh, I am sure he is being very judgmental from the astral plane,” Azu adds, amused, “between one hunt and the other.”

“From what you told me about him,” Zolf says, “yeah, he and Sasha are probably having a laugh while we mope. Which is fair, I mean, look at who I’m stuck with.”

“Excuse you,” Oscar cuts in, outraged, “I’m a delight.”

“Sure you are,” Zolf says kissing him on the cheek.

Silence falls, after that. It’s quiet for a few minutes, while they look at the ocean and pass around the whiskey, thinking about the friends they have lost.

Eventually, for the first time in a long time, Cel speaks.

“Listen I know – I wasn’t with you guys at the time and I never met these people?” They say, passing the bottle to Azu, “but, yes, I know that sometimes people die. But also, you know when you’re, like, building a – I don’t know, say an automaton? And obviously you want it to be prepared for different situations so you have it encounter different situations so you can train it to react? So every encounter leaves its mark on the robot, right? And it’s just – I think, that’s how it is with people. You might have lost these friends, but they left a mark. I just, I see it every day in – in the way you act and speak. So, now, I’m not a big believer in – religion, and so forth, but. But they  _ are _ here, I think. With you. With us.”

Azu smiles at them. “You’re right,” she says, “I know they’re always with us, in the end.”

“To our friends,” Hamid says, raising the bottle towards the sky.

“To our friends,” Oscar repeats when Hamid hands him the bottle. Slowly, it gets passed around, and they toast to friends, past and present.

Zolf thinks about them all, about Feryn and Grizzop and Sasha, and about Azu and Hamid and Cel who are still here with him, and about Oscar and the way one corner of his lips rises and his eyes lightup when he smiles, and realises that here, with the ocean and the friends he has lost and the friends he has made, and Oscar’s arms around him, he is home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaand that's it!  
> I hope you liked this last chapter. When I started writing this fic, I didn't realise how personal a story about healing and coming back home would get for me, though in hindsight I should have known. In the months I worked on this story it became my baby and sharing it with you guys has been wonderful and I hope it's brought you at least a little bit of joy in this upside down world.
> 
> You can always find me at [oscarlovesthsea](https://twitter.com/oscarlovesthsea) and I'm also usually chilling on the RQ discord server. Hopefully, I will see you around.  
> Goodbye and, again, thank you for all your support!


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